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ly  '^^d  ^ame  ^uiboP. 


BLOOMS  OF  THE  BERRY. 


THE 


TRIUMPH  OF  MUSIC 


OTHER    LYRICS. 


JOHN  P.  MORTON  &  COMPANY, 

LOUISVILLE. 


/\©©OLON   Of  ©AUL 


WITH 


OTHER  POEMS. 


By   MADISON  jf'CAWEIN. 


.*=«=*;$ 
* 


LOUISVILLE. 

JOHX  P.  MORTON  &  COMPANY. 

1889 


Copyrighted  by 

MADISON   J.    C  AWEl  N. 

1889 


^itb  all  ray  leaijt 


TO 


LILIAN   AND   ROSE. 


CONTENTS. 


Accolon  of  Gaul, i 

Der  Freischutz, 65 

To  Revery, 82 

Late  October, 85 

An  Anemone 88 

The  Rain-Crow 90 

Loveliness, 92 

The  Last  Scion  of  the  House  of  Clare,     ....  95 

On  the  Jellico-Spur, 105 

Senorita, m 

Leander  to  Hero, 113 

Musagetes, 1 16 

The  Quarrel, 118 

The  Mood  o'  the  Earth, 119 

A  Gray  Day, 122 

Carmen, 125 

Disenchantment  of  Death, 128 

The  Three  Urgandas, 131 

The  Brush  Sparrow, 135 


viii  CONTENTS. 

Chords — 

I.  Sleep  while  I  sing  to  thee 138 

II.  Floats  a  wild  chant  of  morning,      .     .     .     .139 

III.  When  love  delays 141 

IV.  Thou  hast  not  loved  her, 143 

V.   O  Life 144 

VI.  If  thou  wouldst  know  the  Beautiful,   .     .     .  148 

VII.  Then  up  the  Orient  heights 150 

VIII.  Vanishing  Visions, 152 

IX.  As  to  a  Nymph 154 

X.  Ah!  now  the  orchard's  leaves  are  sear,    .     .157 

Dead  and  Gone 158 

A  Mabinogi, 159 

Genius  Loci, 162 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

With  triumphs  gay  of  old  romance. — Keats. 

PRELUDE. 

WHY,  dreams  from  dreams  in  dreams  remembered  ! 
naught 
Save  this,  alas !  that  once  it  seemed  I  thought 
I  wandered  dim  with  someone,  but  I  knew 
Not  who;  most  beautiful  and  good  and  true, 
Yet  sad  through  suffering;  with  curl-crowned  brow. 
Soft  eyes  and  voice  ;  so  white  she  haunts  me  now  : — 
And  when,  and  where  ? — At  night  in  dreamland. 

She 
Led  me  athwart  a  flower-showered  lea 

Where  trammeled  puckered  pansy  and  the  pea  ; 

Spread  stains  of  pale-red  poppies  rinced  of  rain, 

So  gorged  with  sun  their  hurt  hearts  ached  with  pain; 

Heaped  honeysuckles  ;  roses  lavishing  beams, 

Wherein  I  knew  were  huddled  little  dreams 

Which  laughed  coy,  hidden  merriment  and  there 

Blew  quick  gay  kisses  fragrancing  the  air. 


2  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

And  where  a  river  bubbled  through  the  sward 

A  mist  lay  sleepily  ;  and  it  was  hard 

To  see  whence  sprung  it,  to  what  seas  it  led, 

How  broadly  spread  and  what  it  was  it  fled 

So  ceasless  in  its  sighs,  and  bickering  on 

Into  romance  or  some  bewildering  dawn 

Of  wisest  legend  from  the  storied  wells 

Of  lost  Baranton,  where  old  Merlin  dwells, 

Nodding  a  white  poll  and  a  grand,  gray  beard 

As  if  some  Lake  Lady6  he,  listening,  heard. 

Who  spake  like  water,  danced  like  careful  showers 

With  blown  gold  curls  thro'  drifts  of  wild-thorn  flowers  ; 

Loose,  lazy  arms  in  graceful  movement  tossed, 

Float  flower-like  down  a  woodland  vista,  lost 

In  some  peculiar  note  that  wrings  a  tear 

Slow  down  his  withered  cheek.     And  then  steals  near 

Her  sweet,  lascivious  brow's  white  wonderment, 

And  gray  rude  eyes,  and  hair  which  hath  the  scent 

Of  the  wildwood  Breceliand's  perfumes 

In  Brittany ;  and  in  it  one  red  bloom's 

Blood-drop  thrust  deep,  and  so  "  Sweet  Viviane !" 

All  the  glad  leaves  lisp  like  a  young,  soft  rain 

From  top  to  top,  until  a  running  surge 

The  dark,  witch-haunted  solitude  will  urge, 

That  shakes  and  sounds  and  stammers  as  from  sleep 

Some  giant  were  aroused  :  and  with  a  leap 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

A  samite-gauzy  creature,  glossy  white, 

Showers  mocking  kisses  fast  and,  like  a  light 

Beat  by  a  gust  to  flutter  and  then  done, 

From  Breceliande  and  Merlin  she  is  gone. 

But  still  he  sits  there  drowsing  with  his  dreams ; 

A  wondrous  cohort  hath  he ;  many  as  gleams 

That  stab  the  moted  mazes  of  a  beech ; 

And  each  grave  dream  hath  its  own  magic  speech 

To  sting  to  tears  his  old  eyes  heavy — two 

Hang,  tangled  brilliants,  in  his  beard  like  dew : 

And  still  faint  murmurs  of  courts  brave  and  fair, 

And  forms  of  Arthur  and  proud  Guenevere, 

Grave  Tristram  and  rare  Isoud  and  stout  Mark, 

Bold  Launcelot,  chaste  Galahad  the  dark 

Of  his  weak  mind,  once  strong,  glares  up  with,  then, 

— The  instant's  fostered  blossoms —  die  again. 

A  roar  of  tournament,  a  rippling  stir 

Of  silken  lists  that  ramble  into  her. 

That  white  witch-mothered  beauty,  Viviane, 

The  vast  Breceliande  and  dreams  again. 

Then  Dagonet,  King  Arthur's  fool,  trips  there, 

A  waggish  cunning;  glittering  on  his  hair 

A  tinsel  crown;  and  then  will  slightly  sway 

Thick  leaves  and  part,  and  there  Morgane  the  Fay 

With  haughty  wicked  eyes  and  lovely  face 

Studies  him  steady  for  a  little  space. 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 


I. 


i  i 


THOU  askest  with  thy  studious  eyes  again, 
Here  where  the  restless  forest  hears  the  main 
Toss  in  a  troubled  sleep  and  moan.     Ah,  sweet, 
With  joy  and  passion  the  kind  hour's  replete; 
And  what  wild  beauty  here  !  where  roughly  run 
Huge  forest  shadows  from  the  westering  sun, 
The  wood's  a  subdued  power  gentle  as 
Yon  tame  wild-things,  that  in  the  moss  and  grass 
Gaze  with  their  human  eyes.     Here  grow  the  lines 
Of  pale-starred  green ;  and  where  yon  fountain  shines 
Urned  in  its  tremulous  ferns,  rest  we  upon 
This  oak-trunk  of  God's  thunder  overthrown 
Years,  years  agone  ;  not  where  'tis  rotted  brown 
But  where  the  thick  bark  's  firm  and  overgrown 
Of  clambering  ivy  blackly  berried ;  where 
Wild  musk  of  wood  decay  just  tincts  the  air, 
As  if  some  strange  shrub  on  some  whispering  way, 
In  some  dewed  dell,  while  dreaming  of  one  May, 
In  longing  languor  weakly  tried  to  wake 
One  sometime  blossom  and  could  only  make 
Ghosts  of  such  dead  aromas  as  it  knew, 
And  shape  a  specter,  budding  thin  as  dew. 
To  haunt  these  sounding  miles  of  solitude. 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL.  c 

Troubled  thou  askest,  Morgane,  and  the  mood, 

Unfathomed  in  thine  eyes,  glows  rash  and  deep 

As  that  in  some  wild-woman's  found  on  sleep 

By  some  lost  knight  upon  a  precipice. 

Whom  he  hath  wakened  with  a  laughing  kiss. 

As  that  of  some  frail,  elfin  lady  white 

As  if  of  watery  moonbeams,  filmy  dight, 

Who  waves  diaphanous  beauty  on  some  cliff 

That  drowsing  purrs  with  moon-drenched  pines;  but  if 

The  lone  knight  follow,  foul  fiends  rise  and  drag 

Him  crashing  down,  while  she,  tall  on  the  crag, 

Triumphant  mocks  him  with  glad  sorcery 

Till  all  the  wildwood  echoes  shout  with  glee. 

As  that  bewildering  mystery  of  a  tarn, 

Some  mountain  water,  which  the  mornings  scorn 

To  anadem  with  fire  and  leave  gray ; 

To  which  some  champion  cometh  when  the  Day 

Hath  tired  of  breding  on  his  proud,  young  head 

Flame-furry  blooms  and,  golden  chapleted, 

Sits  rosy,  trembling  with  full  love  for  Night, 

Who  cometh  sandaled ;  dark  in  crape  ;  the  light 

Of  her  good  eyes  a  marvel ;  her  vast  hair 

Tortuous  with  stars, —  as  in  some  shadowy  lair 

The  eyes  of  hunted  wild  things  burn  with  rage, — 

And  on  large  bosoms  doth  his  love  assuage. 


6  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

"  He,  coming  thither  in  that  haunted  place, 

Stoops  low  to  quaff  cool  waters,  when  his  face 

Meets  gurgling  fairy  faces  in  a  ring 

That  jostle  upward  babbling;  beckoning 

Him  deep  to  wonders  secret  built  of  old 

By  some  dim  witch :  '  A  city  walled  with  gold, 

With  beryl  battlements  and  paved  with  pearls, 

Slim,  lambent  towers  wrought  of  foamy  swirls 

Of  alabaster,  and  that  witch  to  love, 

More  beautiful  to  love  than  queens  above.' — 

He  pauses  troubled,  but  a  wizard  power, 

In  all  his  bronzen  harness  that  mad  hour 

Prunges  him — whither?  what  if  he  should  miss 

Those  cloudy  beauties  and  that  creature's  kiss? 

Ah,  Morgane,  that  same  power  Accolon 

Saw  potent  in  thine  eyes  and  it  hath  drawn 

Him  deep  to  plunge — and  to  what  breathless  fate? — 

Bliss? — which,  too  true,  he  hath  well  quaffed  of  late 

But,  there! — may  come  what  stealthy-footed  Death 

With  bony  claws  to  clutch  away  his  breath  ! 

And  make  him  loveless  to  those  e)^es,  alas ! — 

Fain  must  I  speak  that  vision ;  thus  it  was : 

"  In  sleep  one  plucked  me  some  warm  fleurs-de-lis, 
Larger  than  those  of  earth;  and  I  might  see 
Their  woolly  gold,  loose,  webby  woven  thro', — 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL.  7 

Like  fluffy  flames  spun, — gauzy  with  fine  dew. 
And  'asphodels!'  I  murmured;  then,  'these  sure 
The  Eden  amaranths,  so  angel  pure 
That  these  alone  may  pluck  them  ;  aye  and  aye  ! 
But  with  that  giving,  lo,  she  passed  away 
Beyond  me  on  some  misty,  yearning  brook 
With  some  sweet  song,  which  all  the  wild  air  took 
With  torn  farewells  and  pensive  melody 
Touching  to  tears,  strange,  hopeless  utterly. 
So  merciless  sweet  that  I  yearned  high  to  tear 
Those  ingot-cored  and  gold-crowned  lilies  fair ; 
Yet  over  me  a  horror  which  restrained 
With  melancholy  presence  of  two  pained 
And  awful,  mighty  eyes  that  cowed  and  held 
Me  weeping  while  that  sad  dirge  died  or  swelled 
Far,  far  on  endless  waters  borne  away : 
A  wild  bird's  musick  smitten  when  the  ray 
Of  dawn  it  burned  for  graced  its  drooping  head. 
And  the  pale  glory  strengthened  round  it  dead ; 
Daggered  of  thorns  it  plunged  on,  blind  in  night. 
The  slow  blood  ruby  on  its  plumage  white. 

"Then,  then  I  knew  these  blooms  which  she  had  given 
Were  strays  of  parting  grief  and  waifs  of  Heaven 
For  tears  and  memories  ;  too  delicate 
For  eyes  of  earth  such  souls  immaculate ! 


8  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

But  then — my  God  !  my  God  !  thus  these  were  left ! 

I  knew  then  still !  but  of  that  song  bereft — 

That  rapturous  wonder  grasping  after  grief — 

Beyond  all  thought — weak  thought  that  would  be  thief." 

And  bowed  and  wept  into  his  hands  and  she 

Sorrowful  beheld;  and  resting  at  her  knee 

Raised  slow  her  oblong  lute  and  smote  its  chords; 

But  ere  the  impulse  saddened  into  words 

Said :  "  And  didst  love  me  as  thy  lips  have  spake 

No  visions  wrought  of  sleep  might  such  love  shake. 

Fast  is  all  Love  in  fastness  of  his  power, 

With  flame  reverberant  moated  stands  his  tower; 

Not  so  built  as  to  chink  from  fact  a  beam 

Of  doubt  and  much  less  of  a  doubt  from  dream ; 

Such,  the  alchemic  fires  of  Love's  desires, 

Which  hug  this  like  a  snake,  melt  to  gold  wires 

To  chord  the  old  lyre  new  whereon  he  lyres." 

So  ceased  and  then,  sad  softness  in  her  eye 

Sang  to  his  dream  a  questioning  reply: 

"  Will  love  grow  less  when  dead  the  roguish  Spring, 
Who  from  gay  eyes  sowed  violets  whispering ; 
Peach  petals  in  wild  cheeks,  wan-wasted  thro' 
Of  withering  grief,  laid  lovely  'neath  the  dew, 
Will  love  grow  less? 

"Will  love  grow  less  when  comes  queen  Summer  tall, 
Her  throat  a  lily  long  and  spiritual; 
Rich  as  the  poppied  swaths — droned  haunts  of  bees — 
Her  cheeks,  a  brown  maid's  gleaning  on  the  leas, 
Will  love  grow  less  ? 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL.  g 

"Will  love  grow  less  when  Autumn  sighing  there 
Broods  with  long  frost  streaks  in  her  dark,  dark  hair; 
Tears  in  grave  eyes  as  in  grave  heavens  above, 
Deep  lost  in  memories'  melancholy,  love, 
Will  love  grow  less  ? 

"Will  love  grow  less  when  Winter  at  the  door 
Begs  on  her  scant  locks  icicles  as  hoar  ; 
While  Death's  eyes  hollow  o'er  her  shoulder  dart 
A  look  to  wring  to  tears  then  freeze  the  heart, 
Will  love  grow  less  ?  " 

And  in  her  hair  wept  softly  and  her  breast 

Rose  and  was  wet  with  tears  ;  like  as,  distressed, 

Night  steals  on  Day  rain  sobbing  thro'  her  curls. 

"  The'  tears  become  thee  even  as  priceless  pearls, 

Weep  not  for  love's  sake !  mine  no  gloom  of  doubt, 

But  woe  for  sweet  love's  death  such  dreams  brought  out. 

Nay,  nay;  crowned,  throned  and  flame-anointed  he 

Kings  our  twin-kingdomed  hearts  eternally. 

Love,  high  in  Heaven  beginning  and  to  cease 

No  majesty  when  hearts  are  laid  at  peace ; 

But  reign  supreme,  if  souls  have  wrought  as  well, 

A  god  in  Heaven  or  a  god  in  Hell. 

Yea,  Morgane,  for  the  favor  of  his  face 

All  our  rich  world  of  love  I  will  retrace : 

"  Hurt  in  that  battle  where  thy  brother  strove 
With  those  five  kings  thou  wot'st  of,  dearest  love. 


lo  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

Wherein  the  five  were  worsted,  I  was  brought 

To  some  king's  castle  on  my  shield,  methought, — 

Out  of  the  grind  of  spears  and  roar  of  swords, 

From  the  loud  shields  of  battle-bloody  lords. 

Culled  from  the  mountained  slain  where  Havoc  sprawled 

Gorged  to  her  eyes  with  carnage,  growling  crawled ; — 

By  some  tall  damsels  tiremaids  of  some  queen 

Stately  and  dark,  who  moved  as  if  a  sheen 

Of  starlight  spread  her  presence  ;  and  she  came 

With  healing  herbs  and  searched  my  wounds.     A  dame 

So  marvelous  in  raiment  silvery 

I  feared  lest  some  attendant  chaste  were  she 

To  that  high  Holy  Grael,  which  Arthur  hath 

Sought  ever  widely  by  hoar  wood  and  path  ; — 

Thus  not  for  me,  a  worldly  one,  to  love, 

Who  loved  her  even  to  wonder;  skied  above 

His  worship  as  our  moon  above  the  Main. 

That  passions  upward  yearning  in  great  pain, 

And  suffers  wearily  from  year  to  year, 

She  peaceful  pitiless  with  virgin  cheer. — 

Ah,  ideal  love,  as  merciless  as  fate  ! 

And,  oh,  that  savage  aching  which  must  wait 

For  its  fulfillment,  tortured  love  in  tears, 

Until  that  beauty  dreamed  of  many  years 

Bends  over  one  from  luminous  skies,  so  grand 

One's  weakness  fears  to  touch  its  mastering  hand. 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL.  1 1 

And  hesitates  and  stammers  nothings  weak, 

And  loves  and  loves  with  love  that  can  not  speak ! 

Ah,  there's  the  tyranny  that  breeds  despair; 

Breaks  hearts  whose  strong  youth  by  one  golden  hair 

Coiled  'round  the  throat  is  sooner  strangled  dumb 

Than  by  a  glancing  dagger  thrust  from  gloom 

Of  an  old  arras  at  the  very  hour 

One  thought  one  safest  in  one's  guarded  tower. — 

Thus,  Morgane,  worshiping  that  lady  I 

Was  speechless;  longing  now  to  live,  now  die, 

As  her  fine  face  suggested  secrets  of 

Some  passion  kin  to  mine,  or  scorn  of  love 

That  dragged  heroic  humbleness  to  her  feet, 

For  one  long  look  that  spake  and  made  such  sweet. 

Ah,  never  dreamed  I  of  what  was  to  be, — 

Nay  !  nay  !  how  could  I  ?  while  that  agony 

Of  doubtful  love  denied  my  heart  too  much, 

Too  much  to  dream  of  that  perfection  such 

As  was  to  grant  me  boisterous  hours  of  life 

And  sever  all  the  past  as  with  a  knife  ! 

"  One  night  a  tempest  scourged  and  beat  and  lashed 
The  writhing  forest  and  vast  thunders  crashed 
Clamorous  with  clubs  of  leven,  and  anon. 
Between  the  thunder  pauses,  seas  would  groan 
Like  some  enormous  curse  a  knight  hath  lured 


12 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 


From  where  it  soared  to  maim  it  with  his  sword. 
I,  with  eyes  partly  lidded,  seemed  to  see 
That  cloudy,  wide-wrenched  night's  eternity 
Yawn  hells  of  golden  ghastliness ;  and  sweep 
Distending  foams  tempestuous  up  each  steep 
Of  furious  iron,  where  pale  mermaids  sit 
With  tangled  hair  black-blown,  who,  bit  by  bit, 
Chant  glimmering;  beckoning  on  to  strangling  arms 
Some  hurt  bark  hurrying  in  the  ravenous  storm's 
Resistless  exultation ;  till  there  came 
One  breaker  mounting  inward,  all  aflame 
With  glow-worm  green,  to  boom  against  the  cliff 
Its  thunderous  bulk — and  there,  sucked  pale  and  stiff. 
Tumbled  in  eddies  up  the  howling  rocks 
My  dead,  drawn  face ;  eyes  lidless ;  matted  locks 
Oozed  close  with  brine ;  tossed  upward  merrily 
By  streaming  mermaids. — Madly  seemed  to  see 
The  vampire  echoes  of  the  hoarse  wood,  who, 
Collected,  sought  me ;  down  the  casement  drew 
Wet,  shuddering  fingers  sharply  ;  thronging  fast 
Up  hooting  turrets,  fell  thick  screaming,  cast 
Down  bastioned  battlements  trooped  whistling  off; 
From  the  wild  woodland  growled  a  backward  scoff. — 
Then  far  away,  hoofs  of  a  thousand  gales. 
As  wave  rams  wave  up  windy  bluffs  of  Wales, 
Loosed  from  the  groaning  hills,  the  cohorts  loud, 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 


13 


Spirits  of  thunder,  charioteered  of  cloud, 
Roared  down  the  rocking  night  cored  with  the  glare 
Of  fiery  eyeballs  swimming  ;  their  drenched  hair 
Blown  black  as  rain  unkempt  back  from  black  brows, 
Wide  mouths  of  storm  that  voiced  a  hell  carouse 
And  bulged  tight  cheeks  with  wind,  rolled  riotous  by 
Ruining  to  ruinous  cliffs  to  headlong  die. 

"  Once  when  the  lightning  made  the  casement  glare 

Squares  touched  to  gold,  between  it  rose  her  hair, 

As  if  a  raven's  wing  had  cut  the  storm 

Death-driven  seaward ;  and  a  vague  alarm 

Stung  me  with  terrors  of  surmise  where  hope 

As  yet  pruned  weak  wings  crippled  by  their  scope. 

And,  lo,  she  kneeled  low,  radiant,  wonderful, 

Lawn-raimented  and  white;  kneeled  low, — 'to  lull 

These  thoughts  of  night  such  storms  might  shape  in  thee. 

All  such  to  peace  and  sleep.' — Ah,  God !  to  see 

Her  like  a  benediction  fleshed  !  with  her 

Hearing  her  voice !  her  cool  hand  wandering  bare 

Wistful  on  feverish  brow  thro'  long  deep  curls  ! 

To  see  her  rich  throat's  carcaneted  pearls 

Rise  as  her  pulses  !   eyes'  large  influence 

Poured  toward  me  straight  as  stars,  whose  sole  defense 

Against  all  storm  is  their  bold  beauty  !  then 

To  feel  her  breathe  and  hear  her  speak  again  ! 


14  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

'  Love,  mark,'  I  said  or  dreamed  I  moaned  in  dreams, 
'  How  wails  the  tumult  and  the  thunder  gleams  ! 
As  if  of  Arthur's  knights  had  charged  two  fields 
Bright  as  sun-winds  of  dawn  ;  swords,  spears  and  shields 
Flashed  lordly  shocked ;  had, — to  a  man  gone  down 
In  burst  of  battle  hurled, — lain  silent  sown. 
Love,  one  eternal  tempest  thus  with  thee 
Were  calm,  dead  calm  !  but,  no ! — for  thee  in  me 
Such  calm  proves  tempest.     Speak  ;  I  feel  thy  voice 
Throb  soft,  caressing  silence,  healing  noise.'. 

"Is  radiance  loved  of  radiance?  day  of  day? 

Lithe  beam  of  beam  and  laughing  ray  of  ray? 

Hope  loved  of  hope  and  happiness  of  joy. 

Or  love  of  love,  who  hath  the  world  for  toy? 

And  thou — thou  lov'st  my  voice  ?  fond  Accolon  ! 

Why  not — yea,  why  not? — nay! — I  prithee! — groan 

Not  for  that  thou  hast  had  long  since  thine  all.' 

She  smiled ;  and  dashed  down  storm's  black-crumbled 

Baptizing  moonlight  bathed  her,  foot  and  face         [wall, 

Deluging,  as  my  soul  brake  toward  her  grace 

With  worship  from  despair  and  secret  grief, 

That  felt  hot  tears  of  heartsease  sweet  and  brief. 

And  one  immortal  night  to  me  she  said 

Words,  lay  I  white  in  death  had  raised  me  red. 

'  Rest  now,'  they  were,  '  I  love  thee  with  s7/ck  love ! — 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 


15 


Some  speak  of  secret  love,  but  God  above 

Hath  knowledge  and  divinement.'  .   .    .    Passionate  low, 

'  To  lie  by  thee  to-night  my  mind  is' : — So 

She  laughed ; — *  Sleep  well ! — for  me  ?  why,  thy  fast  word 

Of  knighthood,  look  thou,  and  this  naked  sword 

Laid  in  betwixt  us.  .  .  .  Let  it  be  a  wall 

Strong  between  love  and  lust  and  lov'st  me  all  in  all.' 

Undid  the  goodly  gold  from  her  clasped  waist ; 

Unbound  deep  locks  ;  and,  like  a  blossom  faced, 

Stood  sweet  an  unswayed  stem  that  ran  to  bud 

In  breasts  and  face  a  graceful  womanhood. 

And  fragrance  was  to  her  as  natural 

As  odor  to  the  rose  ;  and  she  a  tall, 

White  ardor  and  white  fervor  in  the  room 

Moved,  some  pale  presence  that  with  light  doth  bloom. 

Then  all  mine  eyes  and  lips  and  limbs  were  fire ; 

My  tongue  delirious  throbbed  a  lawless  lyre, 

That  harped  loud  words  of  laud  for  loveliness, 

Inspired  of  such,  but  these  I  can  not  guess. 

Then  she,  as  pure  as  snows  of  peaks  that  keep 

Sun-cloven  crowns  of  virgin,  vanquishing  steep. 

Frowned  on  me,  and  the  thoughts,  that  in  my  brain 

Had  risen  a  glare  of  gems,  set  dull  like  rain, 

And  fair  I  spake  her  and  with  civil  pain  : 


<<  ( 


Thine,  sweet,  a  devil's  kindness  which  is  given 
For  earthly  pleasure  but  bars  out  from  Heaven. 


1 6  AC  COLON  OF  CAUL. 

Temptation  harbored,  like  a  bloody  rust 

On  a  bright  blade,  leaves  ugly  stains  ;  and  lust 

Is  love's  undoing  when  love's  limbs  are  cast 

A  commonness  to  desire  that  makes  unchaste ; 

And  this  warm  nearness  of  what  should  be  hid 

Makes  love  a  lawless  love.     But,  thou  hast  bid; — 

Rest  thou  ;  I  love  thee,  how, — I  only  know : 

But  all  that  love  shall  shout  "out!"  at  love's  foe.' 

And  turning  sighed  into  my  hair;  and  she 

Stretched  the  broad  blade's  division  suddenly. 

And  so  we  lay  its  fire  between  us  twain ; 

Unsleeping  I,  for,  oh,  that  devil  pain 

Of  passion  in  me  that  strove  up  and  stood 

A  rebel  wrangling  with  the  brain  and  blood ! 

An  hour  stole  by :  she  slept  or  seemed  to  sleep. 

The  winds  of  night  came  vigorous  from  the  deep 

With  storm  gusts  of  fresh-watered  field  and  wold 

That  breathed  of  ocean  meadows  bluely  rolled. 

I  drowsed  and  time  passed ;  stealing  as  for  one 

Whose  drowsy  life  dreams  in  Avilion. 

Vast  bulks  of  black,  wind-shattered  rack  went  down 

High  casement  squares  of  heaven,  a  crystal  crown 

Of  bubbled  moonlight  on  each  monstrous  head, 

Like  as  great  ghosts  of  giant  kings  long  dead. 

And  then,  meseemed,  she  lightly  laughed  and  sighed. 

So  soft  a  taper  had  not  bent  aside, 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

And  leaned  a  soft  face  seen  thro'  loosened  hair 

Above  me,  vvhisp'ring  as  if  sweet  in  prayer, 

'Behold,  the  sword  !  I  take  the  sword  away  !' 

It  curved  and  clashed  where  the  strewn  rushes  lay ; 

Shone  glassy,  glittering  like  a  watery  beam 

Of  moonlight  in  the  moonlight.     I  did  deem 

She  moved  in  sleep  and  dreamed  perverse,  nor  wist 

That  which  she  did  until  two  fierce  lips  kissed 

My  wondering  eyes  to  wakement  of  her  thought. 

Then  spake  I,  'Love,  my  word!  is  it  then  naught? 

Nay,  nay,  my  word  albeit  the  sword  be  gone  ! — 

And  wouldst  thou  try  me?    rest  thou  safe  till  dawn  ! 

I  will  not  thus  forswear!  my  word  stands  fast!' 

But  now  I  felt  hot,  desperate  kisses  cast 

On  hair,  eyes,  throat  and  lips  and  over  and  over, 

Low  laughter  of  'Sweet  wretch!  and  thou — a  lover? 

What  is  that  word  if  she  thou  gavest  it 

Unbind  thee  of  it?  lo,  and  she  sees  fit!' 

Ah,  Morgane,  Morgane,  then  I  knew  'twas  thou, 

Thou  1  thou !  who  only  could  such  joy  allow." 

"And,  oh,  unburied  passion  of  that  night; 
The  sleepy  birds  too  early  piped  of  light ; 
Too  soon  came  Light  girt  with  a  rosy  breeze. 
Strong  from  his  bath,  to  wrestle  with  the  trees, 
A  thewy  hero  ;  and,  alas  !  too  soon 


17 


1 8  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

Our  scutcheoned  oriel  stained  was  overstrewn 
Of  Dawn's  air-jewels;  then  I  sang  a  strain 
Of  sleep  that  in  my  memory  strives  again  : 

"  Ethereal  limbed  the  lovely  Sleep  should  sit, 

Her  starbeam  locks  with  some  vague  splendor  lit, 

Like  that  the  glow-worm's  emerald  radiance  sheds 

Thro'  twilight  dew-drops  globed  on  lily-beds. 

Her  face  as  fair  as  if  of  graven  stone, 

Yet  dim  and  airy  as  a  cloud  alone 

In  the  bare  blue  of  Heaven,  smiling  sweet, 

For  languorous  thoughts  of  love  that  flit  and  fleet 

Short-rainbow-winged  about  her  crumpled  hair; 

Yet  on  her  brow  a  pensiveness  more  fair, 

Ungraspable  and  sad  and  lost,  I  wist, 

Than  thoughts  of  maiden  whom  her  love  hath  kissed. 

Who  knows,  thro'  deepening  eyes  and  drowsy  breath. 

Him  weeping  bent  whiles  she  drifts  on  to  death. 

Full  sweet  and  sorrowful  and  blithe  withal 

Should  be  her  brow;  not  wholly  spiritual, 

But  tinged  with  mortal  for  the  mortal  mind. 

And  smote  with  flushings  from  some  Eden  wind ; 

Hinting  at  heart's  ease  and  a  god's  desire 

Of  pleasure  hastening  in  a  garb  of  fire 

From  some  dim  country  over  storied  seas 

Glassed  of  content  and  foamed  of  mysteries. 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  ip 

Her  ears  two  sea-pearls'  morning-tender  pink, 

And  strung  to  barkening  as  if  on  a  brink 

Night  with  profundity  of  death  and  doubt, 

Yet  touched  with  awfulness  of  light  poured  out. 

Ears  strung  to  palpitations  of  heart  throbs 

As  sea-shells  waver  with  dim  ocean  sobs. 

One  hand,  curved  like  a  mist  on  dusking  skies, 

Hollowing  smooth  brows  to  shade  dark  velvet  eyes, — 

Dark-lashed  and  dewed  of  tear-drops  beautiful, — 

To  sound  the  cowering  conscience  of  the  dull, 

Sleep-sodden  features  in  their  human  rest. 

Ere  she  dare  trust  her  pureness  to  that  breast. 

Large  limbs  diaphanous  and  fleeced  with  veil 

Of  wimpled  heat,  wove  of  the  pulsing  pale 

Of  rosy  midnight,  and  stained  thro'  with  stars 

In  golden  cores;  clusters  of  quivering  bars 

Of  nebulous  gold,  twined  round  her  fleecily. 

A  lucid  shape  vague  in  vague  mystery. 

Untrammeled  bosoms  swelling  free  and  white 

And  prodigal  of  balm  ;  cupped  lilies  bright, 

That  to  the  famished  mind  yield  their  pure,  best, 

Voluptuous  sleep  like  honey  sucked  in  rest." 

Thus  they  communed.     And  there  her  castle  stood 
With  slender  towers  ivied  o'er  the  wood  ; 
An  ancient  chapel  creeper-buried  near; 


20  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

A  forest  vista,  where  faint  herds  of  deer 

Stalked  like  soft  shadows;  where  the  hares  did  run, 

Mavis  and  throstle  caroled  in  the  sun. 

For  it  was  Morgane's  realm,  embowered  Gore ; 

That  rooky  pile  her  palace  whence  she  bore 

With  Urience  sway ;  but  he  at  Camelot 

Knew  naught  of  intrigues  here  at  Chariot. 


II. 


NOON  ;  and  the  wistful  Autumn  sat  among 
The  lurid  woodlands  ;  chiefs  who  now  were  wrung 
By  crafty  ministers,  sun,  wind  and  frost. 
To  don  imperial  pomp  at  any  cost. 
On  each  wild  hill  they  stood  as  if  for  war 
Flaunting  barbaric  raiment  wide  and  far ; 
And  burnt-out  lusts  in  aged  faces  raged  ; 
Their  tottering  state  by  flattering  zephyrs  paged, 
Who  in  a  little  fretful  while,  how  soon ! 
Would  work  rebellion  under  some  wan  moon ; 
Pluck  their  old  beards  deriding ;  shriek  and  tear 
Rich  royalty  ;  sow  tattered  through  the  air 
Their  purple  majesty ;  and  from  each  head 
Dash  down  its  golden  crown,  and  in  its  stead 
Set  there  a  pale-death  mockery  of  snow, 
Leave  them  bemoaning  beggars  bowed  with  woe. 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

Blow,  wood-wind,  blow !  now  that  all  's  fresh  and  fine 

As  earth  and  wood  can  make  it ;  fresh  as  brine 

And  rare  with  sodden  scents  of  underbrush. 

Ring,  and  one  hears  a  cavalcade  a-rush ; 

Bold  blare  of  horns;  shrill  music  of  steel  bows; — 

A  horn !  a  horn !  the  hunt  is  up  and  goes 

Beneath  the  acorn-dropping  oaks  in  green, — 

Dark  woodland  green,  a  boar-spear  held  between 

His  selle  and  hunter's  head,  and  at  his  thigh 

A  good,  broad  hanger,  and  one  fist  on  high 

To  wind  the  rapid  echoes  from  his  horn, 

That  start  the  field  birds  from  the  sheaved  corn, 

Uphurled  in  vollies  of  audacious  wings, 

That  cease  again  when  it  no  longer  sings. 

Away,  away,  they  flash  a  belted  band 

From  Camelot  thro'  that  haze-ghostly  land  ; 

Hounds  leashed  and  learners  and  a  flash  of  steel, 

A  tramp  of  horse  and  the  long-baying  peal 

Of  stag  hounds  whinip'ring  and — behold!  the  hart, 

A  lordly  height,  doth  from  the  covert  dart ; 

And  the  big  blood-hounds  strain  unto  the  chase. 

A-hunt!  a-hunt!  \\\q.  pryce  seems  but  a  pace 

On  ere  'tis  wound;  but  now,  where  interlace 

The  dense-briered  underwoods,  the  hounds  have  lost 

The  slot,  there  where  a  forest  brook  hath  crossed 

With  intercepting  waters  full  of  leaves. 


21 


2  2  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

Beyond,  the  hart  a  tangled  labyrinth  weaves 

Thro'  dimmer  boscage,  and  the  wizard  sun 

Shapes  many  shadowy  stags  that  seem  to  run 

Wild  herds  before  the  baffled  foresters. 

And  treed  aloft  a  reckless  laugh  one  hears, 

As  if  some  helping  goblin  from  the  trees 

Mocked  them  the  unbayed  hart  and  made  a  breeze 

His  pursuivant  of  mocking.     Hastening  thence 

Pursued  King  Arthur  and  King  Urience 

With  one  small  brachet,  till  scarce  hear  could  they 

Their  fellowship  far-furthered  course  away 

On  fresher  trace  of  hind  or  rugged  boar 

With  hagf^ard^  hairy  flanks,  curled  tusks  and  hoar 

With  fierce  foam-fury ;  and  of  these  bereft 

The  kings  continued  in  the  slot  they'd  left. 

And  there  the  hart  plunged  gallant  thro'  the  brake 

Leaving  a  torn  path  shaking  in  his  wake, 

Down  which  they  followed  on  thro'  many  a  copse 

Above  whose  brush,  close  on  before,  the  tops 

Of  the  large  antlers  swelled  anon,  and  so 

Were  gone  where  beat  the  brambles  to  and  fro. 

And  still  they  drave  him  hard ;  and  ever  near 

Seemed  that  great  hart  unwearied  ;  and  such  cheer 

Still  stung  them  to  the  chase.     When  Arthur's  horse 

Gasped  mightily  and  lunging  in  his  course 

Lay  dead,  a  lordly  bay ;  and  Urience 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

Left  his  gray  hunter  dying  near ;  and  thence 
They  held  the  hunt  afoot;  when  suddenly 
Were  they  aware  of  a  wide,  roughened  sea, 
And  near  the  wood  the  hart  upon  the  sward 
Bayed,  panting  unto  death  and  winded  hard. 
Right  so  the  king  dispatched  him  and  \}clq  p}'yce 
Wound  on  his  hunting  bugle  clearly  thrice. 

As  if  each  echo,  which  that  wild  horn's  blast 

Waked  from  its  sleep, — the  quietude  had  cast 

Tender  as  mercy  on  it, — in  a  band 

Rose  moving  sounds  of  gladness  hand  in  hand, 

Came  twelve  fair  damsels,  sunny  in  sovereign  white. 

From  that  red  woodland  gliding.     These  each  knight 

Graced  with  obeisance  and  "  Our  lord,"  said  one, 

"Tenders  ye  courtesy  until  the  dawn; 

The  Earl  Sir  Damas ;  well  in  his  wide  keep, 

Seen  thither  with  due  worship,  ye  shall  sleep." 

And  then  they  came  o'erwearied  to  a  hall, 

An  owlet-haunted  pile,  whose  weedy  wall 

Towered  based  on  crags  rough,  windy  turrets  high ; 

An  old,  gaunt  giant-castle  'gainst  a  sky 

Wherein  the  moon  hung  foam-faced,  large  and  full. 

Down  on  dank  sea-foundations  broke  the  dull, 

Weird  monotone  of  ocean,  and  wide  rolled 

The  watery  wilderness  that  was  as  old 


23 


24  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

As  loud,  defying  headlands  stretching  out 
Beneath  still  stars  with  a  voluminous  shout 
Of  wreck  and  wrath  forever.     Here  the  two 
Were  feasted  fairly  and  with  worship  due 
All  errant  knights ;  and  then  a  damsel  led 
Each  knight  with  flaring  lamp  unto  his  bed 
Down  separate  corridores  of  that  great  keep ; 
And  soon  they  rested  in  a  heavy  sleep. 

And  then  King  Arthur  woke,  and  woke  mid  groans 

Of  dolorous  knights ;  and  'round  him  lay  the  bones 

Of  many  woful  champions  mouldering; 

And  he  could  hear  the  open  ocean  ring 

Wild  wasted  waves  above.     And  so  he  thought 

"  It  is  some  nightmare  weighing  me,  distraught 

By  that  long  hunt ;"  and  then  he  sought  to  shake 

The  horror  off  and  to  himself  awake ; 

But  still  he  heard  sad  groans  and  whispering  sighs, 

And  deep  in  iron-ribbed  cells  the  eyes 

Of  pale,  cadaverous  knights  shone  fixed  on  him 

Unhappy ;  and  he  felt  his  senses  swim 

With  foulness  of  that  cell,  and,  "  What  are  ye? 

Ghosts  of  chained  champions  or  a  company 

Of  phantoms,  bodiless  fiends  ?  If  speak  ye  can, 

Speak,  in  God's  name !  for  I  am  here — a  man  !" 

Then  groaned  the  shaggy  throat  of  one  who  lay 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 


25 


A  dusky  nightmare  dying  day  by  day, 

Yet  once  of  comely  mien  and  strong  withal 

And  greatly  gracious  ;  but,  now  hunger-tall, 

With  scrawny  beard  and  faded  hands  and  cheeks : 

"  Sir  knight,"  said  he,  "  know  that  the  wretch  who  speaks 

Is  but  an  one  of  twenty  knights  here  shamed 

Of  him  who  lords  this  castle,  Damas  named. 

Who  mews  us  here  for  slow  starvation  keen ; 

Around  you  fade  the  bones  of  some  eighteen 

Tried  knights  of  Britain ;  and  God  grant  that  soon 

My  hunger-lengthened  ghost  will  see  the  moon. 

Beyond  the  vileness  of  this  prisonment !" 

With  that  he  sighed  and  round  the  dungeon  went 

A  rustling  sigh,  like  saddened  sin,  and  so 

Another  dim,  thin  voice  complained  their  woe : — 

"  He  doth  enchain  us  with  this  common  end. 
That  he  find  one  who  will  his  prowess  bend 
To  the  attainment  of  his  livelihood. 
A  younger  brother,  Ontzlake,  hath  he ;  good 
And  courteous,  withal  most  noble,  whom 
This  Damas  hates — yea,  ever  seeks  his  doom ; 
Denying  him  to  their  estate  all  right 
Save  that  he  holds  by  main  of  arms  and  might. 
And  thro'  puissance  hath  he  some  fat  fields 
And  one  rich  manor  sumptuous,  where  he  yields 

3 


2  6  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

Belated  knights  host's  hospitality. 

Then  bold  is  Ontzlake,  Damas  cowardly. 

For  Ontzlake  would  decide  by  sword  and  lance 

Body  for  body  this  inheritance; 

But  Damas  dotes  on  life  so  courageless; 

Thus  on  all  knights  perforce  lays  coward's  stress 

To  fight  for  him  or  starve.     For  ye  must  know 

That  in  his  country  he  is  hated  so 

That  no  helm  here  is  who  will  take  the  fight ; 

Thus  fortunes  it  our  plight  is  such  a  plight." 

Quoth  he  and  ceased.     And  wondering  at  the  tale 

The  King  was  thoughtful,  and  each  faded,  pale, 

Poor  countenance  still  conned  him  when  he  spake: 

"And  what  reward  if  one  this  battle  take?" 

"  Deliverance  for  all  if  of  us  one 

Consent  to  be  his  party's  champion. 

But  treachery  and  he  are  so  close  kin 

We  loathe  the  part  as  some  misshapen  sin, 

And  here  would  rather  dally  on  to  death 

Than  serving  falseness  save  and  slave  our  breath." 

'^May  God  deliver  you  for  mercy,  sirs!" 

And  right  anon  an  iron  noise  he  hears 

Of  chains  clanked  loose  and  bars  jarred  rusty  back. 

The  heavy  gate  croak  open  ;  and  the  black 

Of  that  rank  cell  astonished  was  with  light, 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL.  27 

That  danced  fantastic  with  the  frantic  night. 
One  high  torch  sidewise  worried  by  the  gust 
Sunned  that  lorn  den  of  hunger,  death  and  rust, 
And  one  tall  damsel  vaguely  vestured,  fair 
With  shadowy  hair,  poised  on  the  rocky  stair. 
And  laughing  on  the  King,  "What  cheer?"  said  she; 
"  God's  life  !  the  keep  stinks  vilely  !  and  to  see 
So  noble  knights  endungeoned  hollowing  here 
Doth  pain  me  sore  with  pity — but,  what  cheer?" 

"Thou  mockest  us;  for  me  the  sorriest 

Since  I  was  suckled;  and  of  any  quest 

To  me  the  most  imperiling  and  strange. — 

But  what  wouldst  thou  ?"  said  Arthur,    She,  "  A  change 

I  offer  thee,  through  thee  to  these  with  thee, 

And  thou  but  grant  me  in  love's  courtesy 

To  fight  for  Damas  and  his  livelihood. 

And  if  thou  wilt  not — look  !  thou  seest  this  brood 

Of  lean  and  dwindled  bellies  specter-eyed. 

Keen  knights  erst  who  refused  me  ? — so  decide," 

Then  thought  the  King  of  the  sweet  sky,  the  breeze 

That  blew  delirious  over  waves  and  trees ; 

Thick  fields  of  grasses  and  the  sunny  earth 

Whose  beating  heat  filled  the  red  heart  with  mirth, 

And  made  the  world  one  sovereign  pleasure  house 

Where  king  and  serf  might  revel  and  carouse ; 


28  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.         * 

Then  of  the  hunt  on  autumn-plaintive  hills ; 

Lone  forest  chapels  by  their  radiant  rills  : 

His  palace  rich  at  Caerlleon  upon  Usk, 

And  Camelot's  loud  halls  that  thro'  the  dusk 

Blazed  far  and  bloomed  a  rose  of  revelry ; 

Or  in  the  misty  morning  shadowy 

Loomed  grave  for  audience.     And  then  he  thought 

Of  his  Round  Table  and  that  Grael  wide  sought 

In  haunted  holds  on  demon-sinful  shore ; 

Then  marveled  of  what  wars  would  rise  and  roar 

With  dragon  heads  unconquered  and  devour 

This  realm  of  Britain  and  pluck  up  that  flower 

Of  chivalry  whence  ripened  his  renown : 

And  then  the  reign  of  some  besotted  crown, 

A  bandit  king  of  lust,  idolatry — 

And  with  that  thought  for  tears  he  could  not  see: 

Then  of  his  greatest  champions,  King  Ban's  son, 

And  Galahad  and  Tristram,  Accolon : 

And  then,  ah  God !  of  his  dear  Guenevere, 

And  with  that  thought — to  starve  and  moulder  here?- 

For,  being  unfriend  to  Arthur  and  his  court, 

Well  wist  he  this  grim  Earl  would  bless  that  sport 

Of  fortune  which  had  fortuned  him  so  well 

To  have  to  starve  his  sovereign  in  a  cell. — 

In  the  entombing  rock  where  ground  the  deep ; 

And  all  the  life  shut  in  his  limbs  did  leap 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  29 

Thro'  eager  veins  and  sinews  fierce  and  red,- 
Stung  on  to  action,  and  he  rose  and  said : 
"That  which  thou  askest  is  right  hard,  but,  lo ! 
To  rot  here  harder ;  I  will  fight  his  foe. 
But,  mark,  I  have  no  weapons  and  no  mail, 
No  steed  against  that  other  to  avail." 

"  Fear  not  for  that;  and  thou  shalt  lack  none,  sire." 
And  so  she  led  the  path  :  her  torch's  fire 
Scaring  wild  spidery  shadows  at  each  stride 
From  cob-webbed  coignes  of  scowling  passes  wide, 
That  labyrinthed  the  rock  foundation  strong 
Of  that  ungainly  fortress  bleak  of  wrong. 
At  length  they  came  to  a  nail-studded  door, 
Which  she  unlocked  with  one  harsh  key  she  bore 
Mid  many  keys  bunched  at  her  girdle;  thence 
They  issued  on  a  terraced  eminence. 
Beneath  the  sea  broke  sounding  ;  and  the  King 
Breathed  open  air  that  had  the  smell  and  sting 
Of  brine  morn-vigored  and  blue-billowed  foam ; 
For  in  the  East  the  second  dawning's  gloam. 
Since  that  unlucky  chase,  was  freaked  with  streaks 
Red  as  the  ripe  stripes  of  an  apple's  cheeks. 
And  so  within  that  larger  light  of  dawn 
It  seemed  to  Arthur  now  that  he  had  known 
This  maiden  at  his  court,  and  so  he  asked. 


30 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 


But  she,  well-tutored,  her  real  person  masked, 

And  answered  falsely ;  "  Nay,  deceive  thee  not ; 

Thou  saw'st  me  ne'er  at  Arthur's  court,  I  wot. 

For  here  it  likes  me  best  to  sing  and  spin 

And  work  the  hangings  my  sire's  halls  within : 

No  courts  or  tournaments  or  gallants  brave 

To  flatter  me  and  love!  for  me — the  wave, 

The  forest,  field  and  sky  ;  the  calm,  the  storm  ; 

My  garth  wherein  I  walk  to  think ;  the  charm 

Of  uplands  redolent  at  bounteous  noon 

And  full  of  sunlight;  night's  free  stars  and  moon; 

White  ships  that  pass  some  several  every  year ; 

These  lonesome  towers  and  those  wild  mews  to  hear." 

"An  owlet  maid!"  the  King  laughed.     But,  untrue 

Was  she,  and  of  false  Morgane's  treasonous  crew, 

Who  worked  vile  wiles  ev'n  to  the  slaying  of 

The  King,  half-brother,  whom  she  did  not  love. 

And  presently  she  brought  him  where  in  state 

This  swarthy  Damas  with  mailed  cowards  sate.     .     . 

King  Urience  that  dawning  woke  and  found 
Himself  safe  couched  at  Camelot  and  wound 
In  Morgane's  arms ;  nor  weened  he  how  it  was 
That  this  thing  secretly  had  come  to  pass. 
But  Accolon  at  Chariot  sojourned  still 
Content  with  his  own  dreams ;  for  'twas  the  will 


ACCOLOX  OF  GAUL.  3 1 

Of  Morgane  thus  to  keep  him  hidden  here 

For  her  desire's  excess,  where  everywhere 

In  Gore  by  wood  and  river  pleasure  houses, 

Pavilions,  rose  of  rock  for  love  carouses; 

And  there  in  one,  where  'twas  her  dearest  wont 

To  list  a  tinkling,  falling  water  fount, — 

Which  thro'  sweet  talks  of  idle  paramours 

At  sensuous  ease  on  tumbled  beds  of  flowers. 

Had  caught  a  laughing  language  light  thereof, 

And  rambled  ever  gently  whispering,  "love!" — 

On  cool  white  walls  her  hands  had  deftly  draped 

A  dark  rich  hanging,  where  were  worked  and  shaped 

Her  fullest  hours  of  pleasure  flesh  and  mind, 

Imperishable  passions,  which  could  wind 

The  past  and  present  quickly ;  and  could  mate 

Dead  loves  to  kisses,  and  intoxicate 

With  moon-soft  words  of  past  delight  and  song 

The  heavy  heart  that  wronged  forgot  the  wrong. 

And  there  beside  it  pooled  the  urned  well, 

And  slipping  thence  thro'  dripping  shadows  fell 

From  rippling  rock  to  rock.     Here  Accolon, 

With  Morgane's  hollow  lute,  one  studious  dawn 

Came  solely  ;  with  not  ev'n  her  brindled  hound 

To  leap  beside  him  o'er  the  gleaming  ground; 

No  handmaid  lovely  of  his  loveliest  fair, 

Or  paging  dwarf  in  purple  with  him  there; 


32  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

But  this  her  lute,  about  which  her  perfume 

Clung  odorous  of  memories,  that  made  bloom 

Her  flowing  features  rosy  to  his  eyes, 

That  saw  the  words,  his  sense  could  but  surmise. 

Shaped  on  dim,  breathing  lips ;  the  laugh  that  drunk 

Her  deep  soul-fire  from  eyes  wherein  it  sunk 

And  slowly  waned  away  to  smouldering  dreams. 

Fathomless  with  thought,  far  in  their  dove-gray  gleams. 

And  so  for  those  most  serious  eyes  and  lips, 

Faint,  filmy  features,  all  the  music  slips 

Of  buoyant  being  bubbling  to  his  voice 

To  chant  her  praises  ;  and  with  nervous  poise 

His  fleet,  trained  fingers  call  from  her  long  lute 

Such  riotous  notes  as  must  make  madly  mute 

The  nightingale  that  listens  quivering. 

And  well  he  knows  that  winging  hence  it'll  sing 

These  aching  notes,  whose  beauties  burn  and  pain 

Its  anguished  heart  now  sobless,  not  in  vain 

Wild  'neath  her  casement  in  that  garden  old 

Dingled  with  heavy  roses ;  in  the  gold 

Of  Camelot's  stars  and  pearl-encrusted  moon ; 

And  if  it  dies,  the  heartache  of  the  tune 

Shall  clamor  stormy  passion  at  her  ear. 

Of  death  more  dear  than  life  if  love  be  there ; 

Melt  her  quick  eyes  to  tears,  her  throat  to  sobs 

Tumultuous  heaved,  while  separation  throbs 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  33 

Hard  at  her  heart,  and  longing  rears  to  Death 

Two  prayerful  eyes  of  pleading  ''  for  one  breath — 

An  ardor  of  fierce  life — crushed  in  his  arms 

Close,  close  !  and,  oh,  for  such,  all  these  smooth  charms. 

Full,  sentient  charms  voluptuous  evermore  !" 

And  sweet  to  know  these  sensitive  vows  shall  soar 

Ev'n  to  the  dull  ear  of  her  drowsy  lord 

Beside  her;  heart-defying  with  each  word 

Harped  in  the  bird's  voice  rhythmically  clear. 

And  thus  he  sang  to  her  who  was  not  there  : 

"  She  comes!  her  presence,  like  a  moving  song 
Breathed  soft  of  loveliest  lips  and  lute-like  tongue, 
Sways  all  the  gurgling  forests  from  their  rest : 
I  fancy  where  her  rustling  foot  is  pressed, 
So  faltering,  love  seems  timid,  but  how  strong 
That  darling  love  that  flutters  in  her  breast ! 

"  She  comes  !  and  the  green  vistas  are  stormed  thro' — 
As  if  wild  wings,  wet-varnished  with  dripped  dew, 
Had  dashed  a  sudden  sunbeam  tempest  past, 
— With  her  eyes'  inspiration  clearly  chaste; 
A  rhythmic  lavishment  of  bright  gray  blue, 
Long  arrows  of  her  eyes  perfection  cast. 

"  Ah,  God  !  she  comes !  and.  Love,  I  feel  thy  breath, 
Like  the  soft  South  who  idly  wandereth 
Thro'  musical  leaves  of  laughing  laziness. 
Page  on  before  her,  how  sweet — none  can  guess! 
To  say  my  soul  '  Here  's  harmony  dear  as  death 
To  sigh  wild  vows,  or  utterless,  to  bless.' 


34  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

"  She  comes !   ah,  God !  and  all  m}^  brain  is  brave 

To  war  for  words  to  laud  her  and  to  lave 
Her  queenly  beauty  in  such  vows  whereof 
May  hush  melodious  cooings  of  a  dove  : 

For  her  light  feet  the  favored  path  to  pave 
With  oaths,  like  roses,  raving  mad  with  love. 

"  She  comes !  in  me  a  passion — as  the  moon 
Works  madness  in  strong  men — my  blood  doth  swoon 
Towards  her  glory ;  and  I  feel  her  soul 
Cling  lip  to  lip  with  mine;  and  now  the  whole 
Mix  with  me,  aching  like  a  tender  tune 
Exhausted ;  lavished  in  a  god's  control. 

"  She  comes !  ah,  Christ !   ye  eager  stars  that  grace 
The  fragmentary  skies,  that  dimple  space. 

Clink,  and  I  hear  her  harp-sweet  footfalls  come: 
Ah,  wood-indulging,  violet-vague  perfume, 
Art  of  her  presence,  of  her  wild-flower  face, 
That  like  some  gracious  blossom  stains  the  gloom  ? 

"  Oh,  living  exultation  of  the  blood! 
That  now — as  sunbursts,  the  almighty  mood 

Of  some  moved  god,  scatter  the  storm  that  roars, 
And  hush — her  love  like  some  spent  splendor  pours 
Into  it  all  immaculate  maidenhood, 

And  all  the  heart  that  hesitates — adores. 

"  Vanquished  !  so  vanquished  ! — ah,  triumphant  sweet ! 

The  height  of  heaven — supine  at  thy  feet! 

Where  love  feasts  crowned,  and  basks  in  such  a  glare 
As  hearts  of  suns  burn,  in  thine  eyes  and  hair, 

Unutterable  with  raveled  fires  that  cheat 
The  ardent  clay  of  me  and  make  me  air. 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  35 

"And  so,  rare  witch,  thy  blood,  like  some  lewd  wine, 
Shall  subtly  make  me,  like  thee,  half  divine ; 

And, — sweet  rebellion  ! — clasp  thee  till  thou  urge 
To  combat  close  of  savage  kisses  :  surge 
A  war  that  rubies  all  thy  proud  cheeks'  shine, — 
Slain,  struggling  blushes, — till  white  truce  emerge. 

"  My  life  for  thine,  thus  bartered  lip  to  lip ! 
A  striving  being  pulsant,  that  shall  slip 

Like  song  and  flame  in  sense  from  thee  to  me ; 

Nor  held,  but  quick  rebartered  thence  to  thee  : 
So  our  two  loves  be  as  a  singleship, 

Ten  thousand  loves  as  one  eternally." 


Babbled  the  woodland  like  a  rocky  brook  ; 

And  as  the  ecstacy  of  foliage  shook, 

Hot  pieces  of  bright,  sunny  heavens  glanced 

Like  polished  silver  thro'  pale  leaves  that  danced. 

As  one  hath  seen  some  green-gowned  huntress  fair. 

Morn  in  her  cheeks  and  midnight  in  her  hair. 

Eyes  clear  as  hollow  dews;  clean  limbs  as  lithe 

As  limbs  swift  morning  moves ;  a  voice  as  blithe 

As  high  hawk's  ringing  thro'  the  falling  dews; 

Pant  thro'  the  bramble-matted  avenues, —  [green, 

Where  brier  and  thorn  have  gashed  her  gown's  pinched 

About  bright  breasts  and  arms,  the  milky  sheen 

Of  white  skin  healthy  pouting  out;  her  face, 

Ardent  and  flushed,  fixed  on  the  lordly  chase. 


36  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 


III. 


THE  eve  now  came;  and  shadows  cowled  the  way 
Like  somber  pahners,  who  have  kneeled  to  pray 
I^eside  a  wayside  shrine,  and  rosy  rolled 
Up  the  capacious  West  a  grainy  gold, 
Luxuriant  fluid,  burned  thro'  strong,  keen  skies. 
Which  seemed  as  towering  gates  of  Paradise 
Surged  dim,  far  glories  on  the  hungry  gaze. 
And  from  that  sunset  down  the  roseate  ways, 
To  Accolon,  who  with  his  idle  lute, 
Reclined  in  revery  against  a  root 
Of  a  great  oak,  a  fragment  of  that  West, 
A  dwarf,  in  crimson  satin  tightly  dressed. 
Skipped  like  a  leaf  the  rather  frosts  have  burned 
And  cozened  to  a  fever  red,  that  turned 
And  withered  all  its  sap.     And  this  one  came 
From  Camelot ;  from  his  beloved  dame, 
Morgane  the  Fay.     He  on  his  shoulder  bore 
A  burning  blade  wrought  strange  with  wizard  lore, 
Runed  mystically ;  and  a  scabbard  which 
Glared  venomous,  with  angry  jewels  rich. 
He,  louting  to  the  knight,  "Sir  knight,"  said  he, 
"  Your  lady  with  all  sweetest  courtesy 
Assures  you — ah,  unworthy  messenger 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  37 

I  of  such  brightness ! — of  that  love  of  her." 

Then  doffing  that  great  baldric,  with  the  sword 

To  him  he  gave  :  "  And  this  from  him,  my  lord 

King  Arthur;  even  his  Excalibur, 

The  sovereign  blade,  which  Merlin  gat  of  her, 

The  Ladye  of  the  Lake,  who  Launcelot 

Fostered  from  infanthood,  as  well  you  wot, 

In  some  wierd  mere  in  Briogn's  tangled  lands 

Of  charms  and  mist;  where  filmy  fairy  bands 

By  lazy  moons  of  Autumn  spin  their  fill 

Of  giddy  morrice  on  the  frosty  hill. 

By  goodness  of  her  favor  this  is  sent ; 

Who  craved  King  Arthur  boon  with  this  intent : 

That  soon  for  her  a  desperate  combat  one 

With  one  of  mightier  prowess  were  begun ; 

And  with  the  sword  Excalibur  right  sure 

Were  she  against  that  champion  to  endure. 

The  blade  flame-trenchant,  but  more  prize  the  sheath 

Which  stauncheth  blood  and  guardeth  from  all  death." 

He  said :  and  Accolon  looked  on  the  sword, 

A  mystic  falchion,  and,  "  It  shall  wend  hard 

With  him  thro'  thee,  unconquerable  blade, 

Whoe'er  he  be,  who  on  my  Queen  hath  laid 

Stress  of  unworship:  and  the  hours  as  slow 

As  palsied  hours  in  Purgatory  go 

For  those  unmassed,  till  I  have  slain  this  foe ! 


38 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 


My  purse,  sweet  page;  and  now — to  her  who  gave, 

Dispatch  !  and  this  : — to  all  commands — her  slave. 

To  death  obedient.     In  love  or  war 

Her  love  to  make  me  all  the  warrior. 

Plead  her  grace  mercy  for  so  long  delay 

From  love  that  dies  an  hourly  death  each  day 

Till  her  white  hands  kissed  he  shall  kiss  her  face, 

By  which  his  life  breathes  in  continual  grace." 

Thus  he  commanded  ;  and  incontinent 

The  dwarf  departed  like  a  red  ray  sent 

From  rich  down-flowering  clouds  of  suffused  light 

Winged  o'er  long,  purple  glooms;  and  with  the  night. 

Whose  votaress  cypress  stoled  the  dying  strife 

Softly  of  day,  and  for  whose  perished  life 

Gave  heaven  her  golden  stars,  in  dreamy  thought 

Wends  Accolon  to  hazy  Chariot. 

And  it  befell  him  wandering  one  dawn. 

As  was  his  wont,  across  a  dew-drenched  lawn, 

Glad  with  night  freshness  and  elastic  health 

In  sky  and  earth,  that  lavished  worlds  of  wealth 

From  heady  breeze  and  racy  smells,  a  knight 

And  lofty  lady  met  he  ;  gay  bedight, 

With  following  of  six  esquires;  and  they 

Held  on  straight  wrists  the  jess'd  gerfalcon  gray. 

And  rode  a-hawking  o'er  the  leas  of  Gore 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  3p 

From  Ontzlake's  manor,  where  he  languished;  sore 

Hurt  in  the  lists,  a  spear  thrust  in  his  thigh  : 

Who  had  besought — for  much  he  feared  to  die — 

This  knight  and  his  fair  lady,  as  they  rode 

To  hawk  near  Chariot,  the  Queen's  abode, 

That  they  would  pray  her  in  all  charity 

Fare  post  to  him, — for  in  chirurgery 

Of  all  that  land  she  was  the  greatest  leach, — 

And  her  to  his  recovery  beseech. 

So,  Accolon  saluted,  they  drew  rein. 

And  spake  their  message, — for  right  over  fain 

Were  they  toward  their  sport, — that  he  might  bare 

Petition  to  that  lady.     But,  not  there 

Was  Arthur's  sister,  as  they  well  must  wot; 

But  now  a  se'nnight  lay  at  Camelot, 

Of  Guenevere  the  guest ;  and  there  with  her 

Four  other  queens  of  farther  Britain  were  : 

Isoud  of  Ireland,  she  of  Cornwall  Queen, 

King  Mark's  wife ;  who  right  rarely  then  was  seen 

At  court  for  jealousy  of  Mark,  who  knew 

Her  to  that  lance  of  Lyonesse  how  true 

Since  mutual  quaffing  of  a  philter;  while 

How  guilty  Guenevere  on  such  could  smile: 

She  of  Northgales  and  she  of  Eastland :  and 

She  of  the  Out  Isles  Queen.     A  fairer  band 

For  sovereignty  and  love  and  loveliness 


40  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

Was  not  in  any  realm  to  grace  and  bless. 

Then  quoth  the  knight,  "Ay?  see  how  fortune  turns 

And  varies  like  an  April  day,  that  burns 

Now  welkins  blue  with  calm,  now  scowls  them  down, 

Revengeful,  with  a  black  storm's  wrinkled  frown. 

For,  look,  this  Damas,  who  so  long  hath  lain 

A  hiding  vermin,  fearful  of  all  pain. 

Dark  in  his  bandit  towers  by  the  deep, 

Wakes  from  a  five  years'  torpor  and  a  sleep ; 

So  sends  dispatch  a  courier  to  my  lord 

With,  '  Lo  !   behold  !  to-morrow  with  the  sword 

Earl  Damas  by  his  knight  at  point  of  lance 

Decides  the  issue  of  inheritance, 

Body  to  body,  or  by  champion.' 

Right  hard  to  find  such  ere  to-morrow  dawn. 

Though  sore  bestead  lies  Ontzlake,  and  he  could. 

Right  fain  were  he  to  save  his  livelihood. 

Then  mused  Sir  Accolon :  "  The  adventure  goes 

Ev'n  as  my  Lady  fashioneth  ;  who  knows 

But  what  her  arts  develop  this  and  make?" 

And  thus  to  those :  "  His  battle  I  will  take, — 

And  he  be  so  conditioned,  harried  of 

Estate  and  life, — in  knighthood  and  for  love. 

Conduct  me  thither." 

And,  gramercied,  then 
Mounted  a  void  horse  of  that  wondering  train. 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  ^j 

And  thence  departed  with  two  squires.     And  they 

Came  to  a  lone,  dismantled  priory 

Hard  by  a  castle  gray  on  whose  square  towers, 

Machicolated,  o'er  the  forest's  bowers, 

The  immemorial  morning  bloomed  and  blushed. 

A  woodland  manor  olden,  dark  embushed 

In  wild  and  woody  hills.     And  then  one  wound 

An  echoy  horn,  and  with  the  boundless  sound 

The  drawbridge  rumbled  raoatward  clanking,  and 

Into   a  paved  court  passed  that  little  band.   .  .  . 

When  all  the  world  was  morning,  gleam  and  glare 
Of  far  deluging  glory,  and  the  air 
Sang  with  the  wood-bird,  like  a  humming  lyre 
Swept  bold  of  minstrel  fingers  wire  on  wire  ; 
Ere  that  fixed  hour  of  prime  came  Arthur  armed 
For  battle  royally.     A  black  steed  warmed 
A  fierce  impatience  'neath  him  cased  in  mail, 
Huge,  foreign  ;  and  accoutered  head  to  tail 
In  costly  sendal ;  rearward  wine-dark  red, 
Amber  as  sunlight  to  his  fretful  head. 
Firm,  heavy  armor  blue  had  Arthur  on 
Beneath  a  robe  of  honor,  like  the  dawn. 
Satin  and  diapered  and  purflewed  deep 
With  lordly  golden  purple ;  whence  did  sweep 
Two  hanging  acorn  tuftings  of  fine  gold, 

4 


42  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

And  at  his  thigh  a  falchion,  long  and  bold, 

Heavy  and  triple-edged  ;  its  scabbard,  red 

Cordovan  leather ;  thence  a  baldric  led 

Of  new  cut  deer-skin  ;  this  laborious  wrought, 

And  curiously  with  slides  of  gold  was  fraught, 

And  buckled  with  a  buckle  white  that  shone. 

Bone  of  the  sea-horse,  tongued  with  jet-black  bone. 

And,  sapphire-set,  a  burgonet  of  gold 

Barbaric,  wyvern-crested  whose  throat  rolled 

A  flame-sharp  tongue  of  agate,  and  whose  eyes 

Glowed  venomous  great  rubies  fierce  of  prize. 

And  in  his  hand  a  wiry  lance  of  ash, 

Lattened  with  finest  silver,  like  a  flash 

Of  sunlight  in  the  morning  shone  a-gash. 

Clad  was  his  squire  most  richly ;  he  whose  head 

Curled  with  close  locks  of  yellow  tinged  to  red : 

Of  noble  bearing ;  fair  face ;  hawk  eyes  keen. 

And  youthful,  bearded  chin.     Right  well  beseen, 

Scarfed  with  blue  satin  ;  on  his  shoulder  strong 

One  broad  gold  brooch  chased  strangely,  thick  and  long. 

His  legs  in  hose  of  rarest  Totness  clad, 

And  parti-colored  leathern  shoes  he  had 

Gold-latched;  and  in  his  hand  a  bannered  spear 

Speckled  and  bronzen  sharpened  in  the  air. 

So  with  his  following,  while  lay  like  scars 
The  blue  mist  thin  along  the  woodland  bars, 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  4, 

Thro'  dew  and  fog,  thro'  shadow  and  thro'  ray 

Joustward  Earl  Damas  led  the  forest  way. 

Then  to  King  Arthur  when  arrived  were  these 

To  where  the  lists  shone  silken  thro'  the  trees, 

Bannered  and  draped,  a  wimpled  damsel  came. 

Secret,  upon  a  palfrey  all  aflame 

With  sweat  and  heat  of  hurry,  and,  "  From  her. 

Your  sister  Morgane,  your  Excalibur, 

With  tender  greeting :  For  ye  well  have  need 

In  this  adventure  of  him.     So,  God  speed!" 

And  so  departed  suddenly:  nor  knew 

The  king  but  this  his  weapon  tried  and  true. 

But  brittle  this  and  fashioned  like  thereof, 

And  false  of  baser  metal,  in  unlove 

And  treason  to  his  life,  of  her  of  kin 

Half  sister,  Morgane — an  unnatural  sin. 

Then  heralded  into  the  lists  he  rode. 

Opposed  flashed  Accolon,  who  light  bestrode, 

Exultant,  proud  in  talisman  of  that  sword, 

A  dun  horse  lofty  as  a  haughty  lord. 

Pure  white  about  each  hollow,  pasterned  hoof. 

Equipped  shone  knight  and  steed  in  arms  of  proof. 

Dappled  with  yellow  variegated  plate 

Of  Spanish  laton.     And  of  sovereign  state 

His  surcoat  robe  of  honor  white  and  black 


44  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

Of  satin,  red-silk  needled  front  and  back 
Then  blackly  bordered.     And  above  his  robe 
That  two-edged  sword, — a  throbbing  golden  globe 
Of  vicious  jewels, — thrust  its  burning  hilt. 
Its  broad  belt,  tawny  and  with  gold-work  gilt, 
Clasped  with  the  eyelid  of  a  black  sea-horse 
Whose  tongue  was  rosy  gold.     And  stern  as  Force 
His  visored  helmet  burned  like  fire,  of  rich 
And  bronzen  laton  hammered ;  and  on  which 
An  hundred  crystals  glittered,  thick  as  on 
A  silver  web  bright-studding  dews  of  dawn. 
The  casque's  tall  crest  a  taloned  griffin  ramped. 
In  whose  horned  brow  one  virtuous  jewel  stamped. 
An  ashen  spear  round-shafted,  overlaid 
With  fine  blue  silver,  whereon  colors  played, 
Firm  in  his  iron  gauntlet  lithely  swayed. 

Intense  on  either  side  an  instant  stood 
Glittering  as  serpents  which,  with  Spring  renewed, 
In  glassy  scales  meet  on  some  greening  way, 
Angry  advance,  quick  tongues  at  poisonous  play. 
Then  clanged  a  herald's  clarion  and  sharp  heels, 
Harsh-spurred,  each  champion's  springing  courser  feels 
Touch  to  red  onset;  the  aventured  spears 
Hurled  like  two  sun-bursts  of  a  storm  when  clears 
Laborious  thunders;  and  in  middle  course 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL.  45 

Shrieked  shrill  the  unpierced  shields;  mailed  horse  from 

Lashed  madly  pawing — and  a  hoarse  roar  rang      [horse 

From  buckram  lists,  till  the  wild  echoes  sang 

Of  leagues  on  leagues  of  forest  and  of  cliff. 

Rigid  the  proof-shelled  warriors  passed  and  stiff 

Whither  their  squires  fresher  spears  upheld  ; 

Nor  stayed  to  breathe  ;  but  scarcely  firmly  selled 

Launched  deadly  forward.     Shield  to  savage  shield 

Opposing;  crest  to  crest,  whose  fronts  did  wield 

A  towering  war's  unmercifulest  scath  ; 

Rocking  undaunted,  glared  wan  withering  wrath 

From  balls  of  jeweled  eyes,  and  raging  stood 

Slim,  slippery  bodies,  in  the  sun  like  blood. 

The  lance  of  Accolon,  as  on  a  rock 

Long  storm-launched  foam  breaks  baffled,  with  the  shock, 

On  Arthur's  sounding  shield  burst  splintered  force ; 

But  him  resistless  Arthur's, — high  from  horse 

Sell-lifted, — ruinous  bare  crashing  on 

A  long  sword's  length  ;  unsaddled  Accolon 

For  one  stunned  moment  lay.    Then  rising,  drew 

The  great  sword  at  his  hip,  that  shone  like  dew 

Fresh  flashed  in  morn.     "  Descend;"  he  stiffly  said, 

"  To  proof  of  better  weapons  head  for  head  ! 

Enough  of  spears,  to  swords  !"  and  so  the  knight 

Addressed  him  to  the  King.     Dismounting  light, 

Arthur  his  moon-bright  brand  unsheathed,  and  high 


46  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

Each  covering  shield  gleamed  slanting  to  the  sky, 

Relentless,  strong,  and  stubborn ;  underneath 

Their  wary  shelters  foined  the  glittering  death 

Of  stolid  steel  thrust  livid  arm  to  arm : 

As  cloud  to  cloud  growls  up  a  soaring  storm 

Above  the  bleak  wood  and  lithe  lightnings  work 

Brave  blades  wild  warring,  in  the  black  that  lurk. 

Thus  fenced  and  thrust — one  tortoise  shield  descends, 

Leaps  a  fierce  sword  shrill, — like  a  flame  which  sends 

A  long  fang  heavenward, — for  a  crushing  stroke ; 

Swings  hard  and  trenchant,  and,  resounding  heard, 

Sings  surly  helmward  full ;  defiance  reared 

Soars  to  a  brother  blow  to  shriek  again 

Blade  on  brave  blade.     And  o'er  the  battered  plain, 

Forward  and  backward,  blade  on  baleful  blade. 

Teeth  clenched  as  visors  where  the  fierce  eyes  made 

A  cavernous,  smouldering  fury,  shield  at  shield, 

Unflinchingly  remained  and  scorned  to  yield. 

So  Arthur  drew  aside  to  rest  upon 
His  falchion  for  a  pause ;  but  Accolon 
As  yet,  thro'  virtue  of  that  magic  sheath 
Fresh  and  almighty,  being  no  nearer  death 
Thro'  loss  of  blood  than  when  the  trial  begun, 
Chafed  with  delay.     But  Arthur  with  the  sun, 
Its  thirsty  heat,  the  loss  from  wounds  of  blood, 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL.  47 

Leaned  fainting  weary  and  so  resting  stood. 

Cried  Accolon,  "  Here  is  no  time  for  rest! 

Defend  thee  !"  and  straight  on  the  monarch  pressed  ; 

"  Defend  or  yield  thee  as  one  recreant!" 

Full  on  his  helm  a  hewing  blow  did  plant, 

Which  beat  a  flying  fire  from  the  steel ; 

Smote,  like  one  drunk  with  wine,  the  King  did  reel, 

Breath,  brain  bewildered.     Then,  infuriate, 

Nerve-stung  with  vigor  by  that  blow,  in  hate 

Gnarled  all  his  strength  into  one  stroke  of  might, 

And  in  both  fists  the  huge  blade  knotted  tight, 

Swung  red,  terrific  to  a  sundering  stroke. — 

As  some  bright  wind  that  hurls  th'  uprooted  oak, — 

Boomed  full  the  beaten  burgonet  he  wore : 

Hacked  thro'  and  thro'  the  crest,  and  cleanly  shore 

The  golden  boasting  of  its  griffin  fierce 

With  hollow  clamor  down  astounded  ears : 

No  further  thence — but,  shattered  to  the  grass, 

That  brittle  blade,  crushed  as  if  made  of  glass, 

Into  hot  pieces  like  a  broken  ray 

Burst  sunward  and  in  feverish  fragments  lay. 

Then  groaned  the  King  unarmed ;  and  so  he  knew 

This  no  Excalibur ;  that  tried  and  true 

Most  perfect  tempered,  runed  and  mystical. 

Sobbed,  ''Oh,  hell-false!  betray  ;«^.?"— Then  withal 

Him  seemed  this  foe,  who  fought  with  so  much  stress, 


48  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

So  long  untiring,  and  with  no  distress 

Of  wounds  or  heat,  through  treachery  bare  his  brand ; 

And  then  he  knew  it  by  its  hilt  that  hand 

Clutched  to  an  avenging  stroke.     For  Accolon 

In  madness  urged  the  belted  battle  on 

His  King  defenseless ;  who,  the  hilted  cross 

Of  that  false  weapon  grasped,  beneath  the  boss 

Of  his  deep-dented  shield  crouched;  and  around 

Crawled  the  unequal  conflict  o'er  the  ground, 

Sharded  with  shattered  spears  and  off-hewn  bits 

Of  shivered  steel  and  gold  that  burnt  in  fits. 

So  hunted,  yet  defiant,  cowering 

Beneath  his  bossy  shield's  defense,  the  King 

Persisted  stoutly.     And,  devising  still 

How  to  secure  his  sword  and  by  what  skill, 

Him  so  it  fortuned  when  most  desperate : 

In  that  hot  chase  they  came  where  shattered  late 

Lav  tossed  the  truncheon  of  a  bursten  lance, 

Which  deftly  seized,  to  Accolon's  advance 

He  wielded  valorous.     Against  the  fist 

Smote  where  the  gauntlet  husked  the  nervous  wrist. 

Which  strained  the  weapon  to  a  wrathful  blow ; 

Palsied,  the  tightened  sinews  of  his  foe 

Loosened  from  effort,  and,  the  falchion  seized, 

Easy  was  yielded.     Then  the  wroth  King  squeezed, 

— Hurling  the  moon-disk  of  his  shield  afar, — 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 


49 


Him  in  both  knotted  arms  of  wiry  war, 

Rocked  sidewise  twice  or  thrice, — as  one  hath  seen 

Some  stern  storm  take  an  ash  tree,  roaring  green^ 

Nodding  its  sappy  bulk  of  trunk  and  boughs 

To  dizziness,  from  tough,  coiled  roots  carouse 

Its  long  height  thundering; — so  King  Arthur  shook 

Sir  Accolon  and  headlong  flung;  then  took. 

Tearing  away,  that  scabbard  from  his  side. 

Tossed  thro'  the  breathless  lists,  that  far  and  wide 

Gulped  in  the  battle  voiceless.     Then  right  wroth 

Secured  Excalibur,  and  grasped  of  both 

Wild  hands  swung  glittering  and  brought  bitter  down 

On  rising  Accolon  ;  steel,  bone  and  brawn 

Hewed  thro'  that  blow ;  unsettled  every  sense  : 

Bathed  in  a  world  of  blood  his  limbs  grew  tense 

And  writhen  then  ungathered  limp  with  death. 

Bent  to  him  Arthur,  from  the  brow  beneath. 

Unlaced  the  helm  and  doffed  it  and  so  asked, 

When  the  fair  forehead's  hair  curled  dark  uncasqued, 

"  Say !  ere  I  slay  thee,  whence  and  what  thou  art  ? 

What  King,  what  court  be  thine?  and  from  what  part, 

Speak  !  or  thou  diest ! — Yet,  that  brow,  methinks 

I  have  beheld  it — where  ?  say,  ere  death  drinks 

The  soul-light  from  life's  cups,  thine  eyes !  thou  art — 

What  art  thou,  speak  !" 

He  answered  slow  and  short 
5 


50 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 


With  tortured  breathing:  "  I? — one,  Accolon 

Of  Gaul,  a  knight  of  Arthur's  court — at  dawn — 

God  wot  what  now  I  am  for  love  so  slain !" 

Then  seemed  the  victor  spasmed  with  keen  pain, 

Covered  with  mailed  hands  his  visored  face  ; 

"  Thou  Accolon  ?  art  Accolon  ?"  a  space 

Exclaimed  and  conned  him  :  then  asked  softly,  "  Say, 

Whence  gatest  thou  this  sword,  or  in  what  way 

Thou  hadst  it,  speak?"  But  wandering  that  knight 

Heard  dully,  senses  clodded  thick  with  night; 

Then  rallying  earthward  :  "  Woe,  woe  worth  the  sword  ! 

— From  love  of  love  who  lives,  for  love  yet  lord  ! — 

Morgane  ! — thy  love  for  love  in  love  hadst  made 

Me  strong  o'er  kings  an  hundred  !  to  have  swayed 

Britain  !  had  this  not  risen  like  a  fate, 

Spawned  up,  a  Hell's  miscarriage  sired  of  Hate  ! — 

A  king?  thou  curse !  a  gold  and  blood  crowned  king, 

With  Arthur's  sister  queen  ? — 'Twas  she  who  schemed. 

And  there  at  Chariot  we  loved  and  dreamed 

Gone  some  twelve  months.     There  so  we  had  devolved 

How  Arthur's  death  were  compassed  and  resolved 

Each  liberal  morning,  like  an  almoner, 

Prodigal  of  silver  to  the  begging  air; 

Each  turbulent  eve  that  in  heaven's  turquoise  rolled 

Convulsive  fiery  glories  deep  in  gold ; 

Each  night — hilarious  heavens  vast  of  night ! — 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

Boisterous  with  quivering  stars  buoyed  bubble-light 
In  flexuous  labyrinths  o'  the  intricate  sphere. 
We  dreamed  and  spake  Ambition  at  our  ear — 
Nay !  a  crowned  curse  and  crimeful  clad  she  came, 
To  me,  that  woman,  brighter  than  a  flame ; 
And  laughed  on  me  with  pouting  lips  up-pursed 
For  kisses  which  I  gave  for  love :  How  cursed 
Was  I  thereafter  !  For,  lie  fleshed  in  truth. 
She  shrivels  to  a  hag  !  Behind  that  youth 
Ugly,  misshapen ;  Lust  not  Love,  wherein 
Germs  pregnant  seed  of  Hell  for  hate  and  sin. — 
/seek  for  such  the  proudest  height  of  seat. 
King  Arthur's  kingdom,  and  bold  fame  complete  ? — 
Harlot ! — sweet  spouse  of  Urience  King  of  Gore  ! — 
Sweet  harlot ! — here's  that  death  determined  o'er  ! 
And  now  thou  hast  thy  dream,  and  dreaming  grieve 
That  death  so  ruins  it  ? — Thy  mouth  to  shrieve ! — 
Nay,  nay,  I  love  thee !   witness  bare  this  field  ! 
I  love  thee  ! — heart,  dost  love  her  and  yet  yield  ? — 
Enow  !  enow  !  so  hale  me  hence  to  die  !" 


51 


Then  anger  in  the  good  King's  gloomy  eye 
Burnt,  instant-embered,  as  one  oft  may  see 
A  star  leak  out  of  heaven  and  cease  to  be. 
Slow  from  his  visage  he  his  visor  raised, 
And  on  the  dying  one  mute  moment  gazed. 


52  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

Then  low  bespake  him  grimly :  "  Accolon, 

I  am  that  King."     He  with  an  awful  groan, 

Blade-battered  as  he  was,  beheld  and  knew ; 

Strained  to  his  tottering  knees  and  haggard  drew 

Up  full  his  armored  tallness,  hoarsely  cried, 

"  The  King !"  and  at  his  mailed  feet  clashed  and  died. 

Then  rose  a  world  of  anxious  faces  pressed 

About  King  Arthur,  who,  though  wound-distressed, 

Bespake  that  multitude  :  "  Whiles  breath  and  power 

Remain,  judge  we  these  brethren  :  This  harsh  hour 

Hath  yielded  Damas  all  this  rich  estate ; — 

So  it  is  his — allotted  his  of  Fate 

Thro'  might  of  arms ;  so  let  it  be  to  him. 

For,  stood  our  oath  on  knighthood  not  so  slim 

But  that  it  hath  this  strong  conclusion  : 

This  much  by  us  as  errant  knight  is  done : 

Now  our  decree  as  King  of  Britain,  hear : 

We  do  adjudge  this  Damas  banned  fore'er. 

Outlawed  and  exiled  from  all  shores  and  isles 

Of  farthest  Britain  in  its  many  miles. 

One  month  be  his — no  more !  then  will  we  come 

Even  with  an  iron  host  to  seal  his  doom ; 

If  he  be  not  departed  over  seas, 

Hang  naked  from  his  battlements  to  please 

Of  carrion  ravens  and  wild  hawks  the  craws. 

Thus  much  for  Damas.     But  our  pleasure  draws 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL.  53 

Toward  sir  Ontzlake,  whom  it  likes  the  King 

To  take  into  his  knightly  following 

Of  that  Round  Table  royal, — Stand  our  word  !— 

But  I  am  overweary  ;  take  my  sword  ; — 

Unharness  me ;  for,  battle  worn,  I  tire 

With  bruises'  achings  and  wounds  mad  with  fire ; 

And  monasteryward  would  I  right  fain, 

Even  Glastonbury  and  with  me  the  slain." 

So  bare  they  then  the  wounded  King  away. 

The  dead  behind.     So,  closed  the  Autumn  day. 


But  when  within  that  abbey  he  waxed  strong, 

The  King  remembering  him  of  all  the  wrong 

That  Damas  had  inflicted  on  the  land, 

Commanded  Lionell  with  a  staunch  band 

This  weed's  out-stamping  if  still  rooted  there. 

He  riding  thither  to  that  robber  lair. 

Led  Arthur's  hopefulest  helms,  when  thorn  on  thorn 

Reddened  an  hundred  spears  one  winter  morn ; 

Built  up,  a  bulk  of  bastioned  rock  on  rock, 

Vast  battlements,  that  loomed  above  the  shock 

Of  freshening  foam  that  climbed  with  haling  hands, 

Lone  cloudy-clustered  turrets  in  loud  lands 

Set  desolate, — mournful  o'er  wide,  frozen  flats, — 

Found  hollow  towers  the  haunt  of  owls  and  bats. 


54  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 


IV. 


HATE,  born  of  Wrath  and  mother  red  of  Crime, 
In  Hell  was  whelped  ere  the  hot  hands  of  time, 
Artificer  of  God,  had  coined  one  world 
From  formless  forms  of  void  and  'round  it  furled 
Its  lordly  raiment  of  the  day  and  night, 
And  germed  its  womb  for  seasons  throed  with  might : 
And  Hell  sent  Hate  to  man  to  hate  or  use, 
To  serve  itself  by  serving  and  amuse.     .     .     . 

For  her  half  brother  Morgane  had  conceived 

A  morbid  hatred ;  in  that  much  she  grieved, 

Envious  and  jealous,  for  that  high  renown 

And  majesty  the  King  for  his  fast  crown 

Thro'  worship  had  acquired.     And  once  he  said, 

"  The  closest  kin  to  state  are  those  to  dread : 

No  honor  such  to  crush  :  envenoming 

All  those  kind  tongues  of  blood  that  try  to  sing 

Petition  to  the  soul,  while  conscience  quakes 

Huddled,  but  stern  to  hearts  whose  cold  pride  takes." 

And  well  she  knew  that  Arthur:  mightier 

Than  Accolon,  without  Excalibur 

Were  as  a  stingless  hornet  in  the  joust 

With  all  his  foreign  weapons.     So  her  trust 

Smiled  certain  of  conclusion  ;  eloquent 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 


55 


Gave  lofty  heart  bold  hope  that  at  large  eyes 

Piled  up  imperial  dreams  of  power  and  prize. 

And  in  her  c^rven  chamber,  oaken  dark, 

Traceried  and  arrased,  o'er  the  barren  park 

That  dripped  with  Autumn, — for  November  lay 

Swathed  frostily  in  fog  on  every  spray, — 

Thought  at  her  tri-arched  casement  lone,  one  night, 

Ere  yet  came  knowledge  of  that  test  of  might. 

Her  lord  in  slumber  and  the  castle  dull 

With  silence  or  with  sad  wind-music  full. 

"  And  he  removed  ? — fond  fool !  he  is  removed  ! 

Death-dull  from  feet  to  hair  and  graveward  shoved 

From  royalty  to  that  degraded  state 

But  purpler  pomp  !  But,  see  !  regenerate 

Another  monarch  rises — Accolon  ! — 

Love!  Love!  with  state  more  ermined  ;  balmy  son 

Of  gods  not  men,  and  nobler  hence  to  rule. 

Sweet  Love  almighty,  terrible  to  school 

Harsh  hearts  to  gentleness ! — Then  all  this  realm's 

Iron-husked  flower  of  war,  which  overwhelms 

With  rust  and  havoc,  shall  explode  and  bloom 

An  asphodel  of  peace  with  joy's  perfume. 

And  then,  sweet  Launcelots  and  sweet  Tristrams  proud, 

Sweet  Gueneveres,  sweet  Isouds,  now  allowed 

No  pleasures  but  what  wary,  stolen  hours 

In  golden  places  have  their  flaming  flowers, 


56  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

Shall  have  curled  feasts  of  passion  evermore. 

Poor  out-thrust  Love,  now  shivering  at  the  door, 

No  longer,  sweet  neglected,  thou  thrust  off. 

Insulted  and  derided :  nor  the  scoff 

Of  bully  Power,  whose  heart  of  insult  flings 

Off  for  the  roar  of  arms  the  appeal  that  clings 

And  lifts  a  tearful,  prayerful  pitiful  face 

Up  from  his  brutal  feet :  this  shrine  where  grace 

Lays  woman's  life  for  every  sacrifice — 

To  him  so  little,  yet  of  what  pure  price, 

Her  all,  being  all  her  all  for  love! — her  soul 

Life,  honor,  earth  and  firmamental  whole 

Of  God's  glad  universe  ;  stars,  moon  and  sun ; 

Creation,  death ;  life  ended,  life  begun. 

And  if  by  fleshly  love  all  Heaven's  debarred, 

Its  sinuous  revolving  spheres  instarred, 

Then  Hell  were  Heaven  with  love  to  those  who  knew 

Love  which  God's  Heaven  encouraged — love  that  drew 

Hips,  head  and  hair  in  fiends'  devouring  claws 

Down,  down  its  pit's  hurled  sucking,  as  down  draws, — 

Yet  lip  to  narrow  lip  with  whom  we  love, — 

A  whirlwind  some  weak,  crippled,  fallen  dove. 

"  Then  this  lank  Urience  ?  He  who  is  lord. — 
Where  is  thy  worry  ?  for,  hath  he  no  sword  ? 
No  dangerous  dagger  I,  hid  softly  here 


AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

Sharp  as  an  adder's  fang  ?  or  for  that  ear 

No  instant  poison  which  insinuates, 

Tightens  quick  pulses,  while  one  breathing  waits, 

With  ice  and  death  ?  For  often  men  who  sleep 

On  eider-down  wake  not,  but  closely  keep 

Such  secrets  in  their  graves  to  rot  and  rot 

To  dust  and  maggots; — of  these — which  his  lot?" 

Thus  she  conspired  with  her  that  rainy  night 

Lone  in  her  chamber;  when  no  haggard,  white. 

Wan,  watery  moon  dreamed  on  the  streaming  pane, 

But  on  the  leads  beat  an  incessant  rain, 

And  sighed  and  moaned  a  weary  wind  along 

The  turrets  and  torn  poplars  stirred  to  song. 

So  grew  her  face  severe  as  skies  that  take 
Dark  forces  of  full  storm,  sound-shod,  that  shake 
With  murmurous  feet  black  hills,  and  stab  with  fire 
A  pine  some  moaning  forest  mourns  as  sire. 
So  touched  her  countenance  that  dark  intent; 
And  to  still  eyes  stern  thoughts  a  passion  sent. 
As  midnight  waters  luminous  glass  deep 
Suggestive  worlds  of  austere  stars  in  sleep. 
Vague  ghostly  gray  locked  in  their  hollow  gloom. 
Then  as  if  some  vast  wind  had  swept  the  room, 
Silent,  intense,  had  raised  her  from  her  seat, 
Of  dim,  great  arms  had  made  her  a  retreat, 


57 


58  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

Secret  as  love  to  move  in,  like  some  ghost, 

Noiseless  as  death  and  subtle  as  sharp  frost. 

Poised  like  a  light  and  borne  as  carefully, 

Trod  she  the  gusty  hall  where  shadowy 

The  stirring  hangings  rolled  a  Pagan  war. 

And  there  the  mail  of  Urience  shone.     A  star, 

Glimmering  above,  a  dying  cresset  dropped 

From  the  stone  vault  and  flared.    And  here  she  stopped 

And  took  the  sword  bright,  burnished  by  his  page. 

And  ruddy  as  a  flame  with  restless  rage. 

Grasping  this  death  unto  the  chamber  where 

Slept  innocent  her  spouse  she  moved — an  air 

Twined  in  soft,  glossy  sendal ;  or  a  fit 

Of  faery  song  a  wicked  charm  in  it, 

A  spell  that  sings  seductive  on  to  death. 

Then  paused  she  at  one  chamber  ;  for  a  breath 

Listened  :  and  here  her  son  Sir  Ewain  slept, 

He  who  of  ravens  a  black  army  kept, 

In  war  than  fiercest  men  more  terrible, 

That  tore  forth  eyes  of  kings  who  blinded  fell. 

Sure  that  he  slept,  to  Urience  stole  and  stood 

Dim  by  his  couch.     About  her  heart  hot  blood 

Caught  strangling,  then  throbbed  thudding  fever  up 

To  her  broad  eyes,  like  wine  whirled  in  a  cup. 

Then  came  rare  Recollection,  with  a  mouth 
Sweet  as  the  honeyed  sunbeams  of  the  South 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  59 

Trickling  thro'  perplexed  ripples  of  low  leaves ; 

To  whose  faint  form  a  veil  of  starshine  cleaves 

Intricate  gauze  from  memoried  eyes  to  feet ; — 

Feet  sandaled  with  crushed,  sifted  snows  and  fleet 

To  come  and  go  and  airy  anxiously. 

She,  trembling  to  her,  like  a  flower  a  bee 

Nests  in  and  makes  an  audible  mouth  of  musk 

Dripping  a  downy  language  in  the  dusk, 

Laid  lips  to  ears  and  luted  memories  of 

Now  hateful  Urience : — Her  maiden  love, 

That  willing  went  from  Caerlleon  to  Gore 

One  dazzling  day  of  Autumn.     How  a  boar, 

Wild  as  the  wonder  of  the  blazing  wood, 

Raged  at  her  from  a  cavernous  solitude. 

Which,  crimson-creepered,  yawned  the  bristling  curse 

Murderous  upon  her ;  how  her  steed  waxed  worse 

And,  snorting  terror,  fled  unmanageable, 

Pursued  with  fear,  and  flung  her  from  the  selle, 

Soft  slipping  on  a  bank  of  springy  moss 

That  couched  her  swooning.     In  an  utter  loss 

Of  mind  and  limbs  she  only  knew  twas  thus — 

As  one  who  pants  beneath  an  incubus  : — 

The  boar  thrust  toward  her  a  tusked  snout  and  fanged 

Of  hideous  bristles,  and  the  whole  wood  clanged 

And  buzzed  and  boomed  a  thousand  sounds  and  lights 

Lawless  about  her  brain,  like  leaves  fierce  nights 


6o  AC  COLON  OF  GAUL. 

Of  hurricane  harvest  shouting :  then  she  knew 

A  fury  thunder  twixt  it — and  fleet  flew 

Rich-rooted  moss  and  sandy  loam  that  held 

Dark-buried  shadows  of  the  wild,  and  swelled 

Continual  echoes  with  the  thud  of  strife, 

And  breath  of  man  and  brute  that  warred  for  life ; 

And  all  the  air,  made  mad  with  foam  and  forms, 

Spun  froth  and  wrestled  twixt  her  hair  and  arms. 

While  trampled  caked  the  stricken  leaves  or  shred 

Hummed  whirling,  and  snapped  brittle  branches  dead. 

And  when  she  rose  and  leaned  her  throbbing  head, 

Which  burst  its  uncoifed  rays  of  raven  hair 

Down  swelling  shoulders  pure  and  faultless  fair, 

On  one  milk,  marvelous  arm  of  fluid  grace. 

Beheld  the  brute  thing  throttled  and  the  face 

Of  angry  Urience  over,  browed  like  Might, 

One  red,  swoln  arm,  that  pinned  the  hairy  fright, 

Strong  as  a  god's,  iron  at  the  gullet's  brawn ; 

Dug  in  his  midriff",  the  close  knees  updrawn 

Wedged  deep  the  glutton  sides  that  quaked  and  strove 

A  shaggy  bulk,  whose  sharp  hoofs  horny  drove. 

Thus  man  and  brute  burned  bent;  when  Urience  slipped 

One  arm,  the  horror's  tearing  tusks  had  ripped 

And  ribboned  redly,  to  the  dagger's  hilt, 

Which  at  his  hip  hung  long  a  haft  gold-gilt; 

Its  rapid  splinter  drew  ;  beamed  twice  and  thrice 


V 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  6i 

High  in  the  sun  its  ghastliness  of  ice, 

Plunged — and  the  great  boar,  stretched  in  sullen  death, 

Weakened  thro'  wild  veins,  groaned  laborious  breath. 

And  how  he  brought  her  water  from  a  well 

That  rustled  freshness  near  them,  as  it  fell 

From  its  full-mantled  urn,  in  his  deep  casque, 

And  prayed  her  quaff;  then  bathed  her  brow,  a  task 

That  had  accompaning  tears  of  joy  and  vows 

Of  love,  sweet  intercourse  of  eyes  and  brows. 

And  many  clinging  kisses  eloquent. 

And  how,  when  dressed  his  arm,  behind  him  bent 

She  clasped  him  on  the  same  steed  and  they  went 

On  thro'  the  gold  wood  toward  the  golden  West, 

Till  on  one  low  hill's  forest-covered  crest 

Up  in  the  gold  his  castle's  battlements  pressed. 

And  then  she  felt  she'd  loved  him  till  had  come 

Fame  of  the  love  of  Isoud,  whom  from  home 

Brought  knightly  Tristram  o'er  the  Irish  foam, 

And  Guenevere's  for  Launcelot  of  the  Lake. 

And  then  how  passion  from  these  seemed  to  wake 

Longing  for  some  great  gallant  who  would  slake — 

And  such  found  Accolon. 

And  then  she  thought 
How  far  she'd  fallen  and  how  darkly  fraught 
With  consequence  was  this.     Then  what  distress 


62  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

Were  hers  and  his — her  lover's  ;  and  success 

How  doubly  difficult  if  Arthur  slain, 

King  Urience  lived  to  assert  his  right  to  reign. 

So  paused  she  pondering  on  the  blade;  her  lips 

Breathless  and  close  as  close  cold  finger  tips 

Hugged  the  huge  weapon's  hilt.     And  so  she  sighed, 

"  Nay  !  long,  too  long  hast  lived  who  shouldst  have  died 

Even  in  the  womb  abortive !  who  these  years 

Hast  leashed  sweet  life  to  care  with  stinging  tears, 

A  knot  thus  harshly  severed  ! — As  thou  art 

Into  the  elements  naked  !" 

O'er  his  heart 
The  long  sword  hesitated,  lean  as  crime. 
Descended  redly  once.     And  like  a  rhyme 
Of  nice  words  fairly  fitted  forming  on, — 
A  sudden  ceasing  and  the  harmony  gone, 
So  ran  to  death  the  life  of  Urience, 
A  strong  song  incomplete  of  broken  sense. 
There  glowered  the  crimeful  Queen.  The  glistening  sword 
Unfleshed,  flung  by  her  wronged  and  murdered  lord  ; 
And  the  dark  blood  spread  broader  thro'  the  sheet 
To  drip  a  horror  at  impassive  feet 
And  blur  the  polished  oak.     But  lofty  she 
Stood  proud,  relentless;  in  her  ecstacy 
A  lovely  devil ;  a  crowned  lust  that  cried 
On  Accolon ;  that  harlot  which  defied 


ACCOLON  OF  GAUL.  63 

Heaven  with  a  voice  of  pulses  clamorous  as 

Steep  storm  that  down  a  cavernous  mountain  pass 

Blasphemes  an  hundred  echoes;  with  like  power 

The  inner  harlot  called  its  paramour : 

Him  whom  King  Arthur  had  commanded,  when 

Borne  from  the  lists,  be  granted  her  again 

As  his  blithe  gift  and  welcome  from  that  joust, 

For  treacherous  love  and  her  adulterous  lust. 

And  while  she  stood  revolving  how  her  deed's 

Concealment  were  secured, — a  grind  of  steeds, 

Arms,  jingling  stirrups,  voices  loud  that  cursed 

Fierce  in  the  northern  court.     To  her  athirst 

For  him  her  lover,  war  and  power  it  spoke, 

Him  victor  and  so  King ;  and  then  awoke 

A  yearning  to  behold,  to  quit  the  dead. 

So  a  wild  specter  down  wide  stairs  she  fled. 

Burst  on  a  glare  of  links  and  glittering  mail, 

That  shrunk  her  eyes  and  made  her  senses  quail. 

To  her  a  bulk  of  iron,  bearded  fierce, 

Down  from  a  steaming  steed  into  her  ears, 

"  This  from  the  King,  a  boon !"  laughed  harsh  and  hoarse ; 

Two  henchmen  beckoned,  who  pitched  sheer  with  force, 

Loud  clanging  at  her  feet,  hacked,  hewn  and  red, 

Crusted  with  blood  a  knight  in  armor — dead; 

Even  Accolon,  tossed  with  the  mocking  scoff 

''  This  from  the  King !" — phantoms  in  fog  rode  off. 


64  ACCOLON  OF  GAUL. 

And  what  remains  ?  From  Camelot  to  Gore 

That  night  she  weeping  fled ;  then  to  the  shore, — 

As  that  romancer  tells, — Avilion, 

Where  she  hath  Majesty  gold-crowned  yet  wan ; 

In  darkest  cypress  a  frail  pitious  face 

Queenly  and  lovely;  'round  sad  eyes  the  trace 

Of  immemorial  tears  as  for  some  crime : 

They  future  fixed,  expectant  of  the  time 

When  the  forgiving  Arthur  cometh  and 

Shall  have  to  rule  all  that  lost  golden  land 

That  drifts  vague  amber  in  forgotten  seas 

Of  surgeless  turquoise  dim  with  mysteries. 

And  so  was  seen  Morgana  nevermore, 

Save  once  when  from  the  Cornwall  coast  she  bore 

The  wounded  Arthur  from  that  last  fought  fight 

Of  Camlan  in  a  black  barge  into  night. 

But  oft  some  see  her  with  a  palfried  band 

Of  serge-stoled  maidens  thro'  the  drowsy  land 

Of  Autumn  glimmer;  when  are  sharply  strewn 

The  red  leaves,  while  broad  in  the  east  a  moon 

Swings  full  of  frost  a  lustrous  globe  of  gleams. 

Faint  on  the  mooning  hills  as  shapes  in  dreams. 


DER   FREISCHUTZ. 

Es  gibt  im  Menschenleben  Augenblicke, 

Wo  er  dem  Weltgeist  naher  ist  ah  sonst. — Schiller. 

HE?  why,  a  tall  Franconian  strong  and  young, 
Brown  as  a  walnut  the  first  frost  hath  hulled  ; 
A  soul  of  full  endeavor  powerful 
Bound  in  lithe  limbs,  knit  into  grace  and  strength 
Of  bronze-like  muscles  elegant,  that  poised 
A  head  like  Hope's ;  and  then  the  manly  lines 
Of  face  developed  by  action  and  mobile 
To  each  suggestive  impulse  of  the  mind, 
Of  smiles  of  buoyancy  or  scowls  of  gloom. — 
And  what  deep  eyes  were  his  ! — Aye  ;  I  can  see 
Their  wild  and  restless  disks  of  luminous  night 
Instinct  with  haughtiness  that  sneered  at  Fate, 
Glared  cold  conclusion  to  all  circumstance, 
As  with  loud  law,  to  his  advantage  swift : 
With  scorn  derisive  that  shot  out  a  barb. 
Stabbed  Superstition  to  its  dagger  hilt ; 
That  smiled  a  thrust-like  smile  which  curled  the  lip, 

A  vicious  heresy  with  incredible  lore, 

6 


66  DER  FREISCHUTZ. 

When  God's  or  holy  Mary's  name  came  forth 
Exclaimed  in  reverence  or  astonishment ; 
And  then  would  say, 

"  What  is  this  God  you  mouth, 
Employ  whose  name  to  sanctify  and  damn  ? — 
A  benedictive  curse? — 'T  hath  past  my  skill 
Of  grave  interpretation.     And  your  faith — 
Distinguishment  unseen,  design  unlawed. 
For  earth,  air,  fire  or  water  or  keen  cold. 
Hints  no  existence  of  such,  worships  not, 
Such  as  men's  minds  profess.     Rather,  meseems, 
Throned  have  they  one  such  as  their  hopes  have  wrought 
In  hope  there  may  prove  such  an  one  in  death 
For  Paradise  or  punishment.     I  hold 
He  juster  were  and  would  be  kinglier  kind 
In  sovereign  mercy  and  a  prodigal — 
Not  to  few  favored  heads  who,  crowned  with  state, 
Rule  sceptered  Infamies — of  indulgence  free 
To  all  that  burn  luxuriant  incense  on 
Shrines  while  they  prayer  him  love's  obedience. 
Are  all  not  children  of  the  same  weak  mold  ? 
Clay  of  His  Adam-modeled  clay  made  quick  ? 
Endowed  with  the  like  hopes,  loves,  fears  and  hates, 
Our  mother's  weaknesses  ?  And  these,  forsooth, 
These  little  crowns  that  lord  it  o'er  His  world, 
Tricked  up  with  imitative  majesty, 


DER  FREISCHUTZ. 


67 


God-countenanced  arrogances,  throned  may  still 

Cry,  '  crawl  and  worship,  for  we  are  as  gods 

Through  God !  great  gods  incarnate  of  his  kind !' 

— Omnipotent  Wrong-representatives ! 

With  might  that  blasts  the  world  with  wars  and  wrings 

Groans  from  pale  Nations  with  hell's  tyranny. 

So  to  my  mind  real  monarch  only  he — 

Your  Satan  cramped  in  Hell ! — aye,  by  the  fiend ! 

To  pygmy  Earth's  frail  tinsel  majesties, 

That  ape  a  God  in  a  sonorous  Heaven, 

Grant  me  the  Devil  in  all  mercy  then, 

For  I  will  none  of  such  !  a  fiend  for  friend 

While  Earth  is  of  the  earth ;  and  afterward — 

Nay  !  ransack  not  To-morrow  till  To-day, 

If  all  that's  joy  engulf  you  when  it  is." 

And  laughed  an  oily  laugh  of  easy  jest 
To  bow  out  God  and  hand  the  Devil  in. — 
I  met  him  here  at  Ammendorf  one  Spring, 
Toward  the  close  of  April  when  the  Harz, 
Veined  to  their  ruin-crested  summits,  pulsed 
A  fluid  life  of  green  and  budded  gold 
Beneath  pure  breathing  skies  of  boundless  blue : 
Where  low-yoked  oxen,  yellow  to  the  knees, 
Along  the  fluted  meadow,  freshly  ploughed. 
Plodded  and  snuffed  the  fragrance  of  the  soil, 
The  free  bird  sang  exultant  in  the  sun. 


68  DER  FREISCHUTZ. 

Triumphant  Spring  with  hinted  hopes  of  May 
And  jaunty  June,  her  mouth  a  puckered  rose. 
Here  at  this  very  hostelery  o'  The  Owl ; 
Mine  host  there  sleek  served  cannikins  of  wine 
Beneath  that  elm  now  touseled  by  that  shrew, 
Lean  Winter.     Well ! — a  lordly  vintage  that ! 
With  tang  of  fires  which  had  sucked  out  their  soul 
From  feverish  sun-vats,  cooled  it  from  the  moon's ; 
From  wine-skin  bellies  of  the  bursting  grape 
Trodden,  in  darkness  of  old  cellars  aged 
Even  to  the  tingling  smack  of  olden  earth. 
Rich  !  I  remember  ! — wine  that  spurred  the  blood — 
Thou  hast  none  such,  I  swear,  nor  wilt  again ! — 
That  brought  the  heart  loud  to  the  generous  mouth, 
And  made  the  eyes  unlatticed  casements  whence 
The  good  man's  soul  laughed  interested  out. 
Stoups  of  rare  royal  Rhenish,  such  they  say 
As  Necromance  hides  guarded  in  vast  casks 
Of  antique  make  far  in  the  Kyffhauser, 
The  Cellar  of  the  Knights  near  Sittendorf. 

So,  mellowed  by  that  wine  to  friendship  frank. 
He  spake  me  his  intent  in  coming  here ; 
But  not  one  word  of  what  his  parentage  ; 
But  this  his  name  was,  Rudolf,  and  his  home, 
Franconia ;  but  nor  why  he  left  nor  when : 
His  mind  to  live  a  forester  and  be 


DER  FREISCHUTZ.  69 

Enfellowed  in  the  Duke  of  Brunswick's  train 
Of  buff  and  green ;  and  so  to  his  estate 
Even  now  was  bound,  a  youth  of  twenty-three. 
And  when  he  ceased  the  fire  in  his  eyes 
Worked  restless  as  a  troubled  animal's, 
Which  hate-enraged  can  burn  a  steady  flame, 
Brute  merciless.     And  thus  I  mused  with  me, 
When  he  had  ceased  to  fulminate  at  state, 
"Another  Count  von  Hackelnburg  the  fiend 
Hath  tricked  unto  the  chase ! — for  hounds  from  Hell  ?" 
But  answered  nothing,  save  light  words  of  cheer 
As  best  become  fleet  friends  warm  wine  doth  make. 
Then  as  it  chanced,  old  Kurt  had  come  that  morn 
With  some  six  of  his  jerkined  foresters 
From  the  Thuringian  forest ;  damp  with  dew  ; 
Red-cheeked  as  morn  with  early  travel ;  bound 
For  Brunswick,  Dummburg  and  the  Hakel  passed. 
Chief  huntsman  he  then  to  the  goodly  Duke, 
And  father  of  the  sunniest  maiden  here 
In  Ammendorf,  the  blameless  Ilsabe ; 
Who,  motherless,  the  white-haired  father  prized 
A  jewel  priceless.     As  huge  barons'  ghosts 
Guard  big,  accumulated  hoards  of  wealth, 
Fast-sealed  in  caverned  cellars,  robber  wells. 
Beneath  the  dungeoned  Dummburg,  so  he  watched 
Her,  all  his  world  in  her  who  was  his  wealth. 


70 


DER  FREISCHUTZ. 


A  second  Lora  of  Thuringia  she. 
Faultless  for  love,  instilled  all  souls  with  love, 
Who,  in  the  favor  of  her  maiden  smile, 
Felt  friendship  grow  up  like  a  golden  thought ; 
A  life  of  love  from  words ;  and  light  that  fell 
And  wrought  calm  influence  from  her  pure  blue  eyes. 
Hair  sedate  and  austerely  dressed  o'er  brows 
White  as  a  Harz  dove's  wing ;  hair  with  the  hue 
Of  twilight  mists  the  sun  hath  soaked  with  gold. 
A  Tyrolean  melody  that  brought 
Dim  dreams  of  Alpine  heights,  of  shepherds  brown, 
Goat-skinned,  with  healthy  cheeks  and  wrinkled  lips 
That  fill  wild  oaten  pipes  on  wand'ring  ways, 
Embowered  deep,  with  mountain  melodies, — 
Simple  with  love  and  plaintive  even  to  tears, — 
Her  presence,  her  sweet  presence  like  a  song. 
And  when  she  left,  it  was  as  when  one  hath 
Beheld  a  moonlit  Undine,  ere  the  mind 
Adjusts  one  thought,  cleave  thro'  the  glassy  Rhine 
A  glittering  beauty  wet,  and  gone  again 
A  flash — the  soul  drifts  wondering  on  in  dreams. 

Some  thirty  years  agone  is  that ;  and  I, 
Commissioner  of  the  Duke — no  sinecure 
I  can  assure  you — had  scarce  reached  the  age 
Of  thirty  (then  some  three  years  of  that  House). 
Thro'  me  the  bold  Franconian,  whom  at  first, 


DER  FREISCHUTZ. 

By  bitter  principles  and  scorn  of  state — 

Developed  into  argument  thro'  wine — 

The  foresthood  like  was  to  be  denied, 

Was  then  enfellowed.  "Yes,"  I  said,  "he's  young; 

True,  rashly  young  !  yet,  see  :  a  wiry  frame, 

A  chamois'  footing,  and  a  face  for  right; 

An  eye  which  likes  me  not,  but  quick  with  pride, 

And  aimed  at  thought,  a  butt  it  may  not  miss: 

A  soul  with  virgin  virtues  which  crude  flesh 

Makes  seem  but  vices,  these  but  God  may  see — 

Develop  these.     But,  if  there's  aught  of  worth, 

Body  or  mind,  in  him,  Kurt,  thou  wilt  know. 

And  to  the  surface  wear,  as  divers  win 

From  hideous  ooze  and  life  rich  jewels  lost 

Of  polished  pureness,  worthless  left  to  night, 

Thou  or  thy  daughter,  and  inspire  for  good." 

A  year  thereafter  was  it  that  I  heard 
Of  Rudolf's  passion  for  Kurt's  Ilsabe, 
Then  their  betrothal.     And  it  was  from  this, — 
For,  ah,  that  Ilsabe  !  that  Ilsabe  ! — 
Good  Mary  Mother  !  how  she  haunts  me  yet ! 
She,  that  true  touchstone  which  philosophers  feign 
Contacts  and  golds  all  base  ;  a  woman  who 
Could  touch  all  evil  into  good  in  man, — 
Surmised  I  of  the  excellency  which 


71 


72 


DER  FREISCHUTZ. 


Refinement  of  her  gentle  company, 

Warm  presence  of  chaste  beauty,  had  resolved 

His  fiery  nature  to,  conditioning  slave. 

And  so  I  came  from  Brunswick — as  you  know — 

Is  custom  of  the  Duke  or,  by  his  seal 

Commissioned  proxy,  his  commissioner, — 

To  test  the  marksmanship  of  Rudolf  who 

Succeeded  Kurt  with  marriage  of  his  child, 

An  heir  of  Kuno. — He  ? — Great  grandfather 

Of  Kurt,  and  one  this  forestkeepership 

Was  first  possesor  of;  established  thus — 

Or  such  the  tale  they  told  me  'round  the  hearths. 

Kuno,  once  in  the  Knight  of  Wippach's  train. 
Rode  on  a  grand  hunt  with  the  Duke,  who  came 
With  vast  magnificence  of  knights  and  hounds, 
And  satin-tuniced  nobles  curled  and  plumed 
To  hunt  Thuringian  deer.     Then  Morn  too  slow 
On  her  blithe  feet  was;  quick  with  laughing  eyes 
To  morrow  mortal  eyes  and  lazy  limbs ; 
Rather  on  tip-toed  hills  recumbent  yawned. 
Aroused  an  hour  too  soon  ;  ashamed,  disrobed, 
Rubbed  the  stiff  sleep  from  eyes  that  still  would  close, 
While  brayed  the  hollow  horns  and  bayed  lean  hounds, 
And  cheered  gallants  until  the  dingles  dinned. 
Where  searched  the  climbing  mists  or,  cornpact  light. 
Fled  breathless  white,  clung  scared  a  moted  gray, 
Low  unsunned  cloudlands  of  the  castled  hills. 


DEK  FREISCHUTZ. 

And  then  near  mid-noon  from  a  swarthy  brake 
The  ban-dogs  roused  a  red  gigantic  stag, 
Lashed  to  whose  back  with  grinding  knotted  cords, 
Borne  with  whom  like  a  nightmare's  incubus, 
A  man  shrieked ;  burry-bearded  and  his  hair 
Kinked  with  dry,  tangled  burrs,  and  he  himself 
Emaciated  and  half  naked.     From 
The  wear  of  wildest  passage  thro'  the  wild, 
Rent  red  by  briars,  torn  and  bruised  by  rocks. 
— For,  such  the  law  then,  when  the  peasant  chased 
Or  slew  the  dun  deer  of  his  tyrant  lords, 
As  punishment  the  torturing  withes  and  spine 
Of  some  big  stag,  a  gift  of  game  and  wild 
Enough  till  death — death  in  the  antlered  herd 
Or  crawling  famine  in  bleak,  haggard  haunts. 
Then  was  the  dark  Duke  glad,  and  forthwith  cried 
To  all  his  dewy  train  a  rich  reward 
For  him  who  slew  the  stag  and  saved  the  man, 
But  death  to  him  who  slew  the  man  and  stag, 
The  careless  error  of  a  loose  attempt. 
So  crashed  the  hunt  along  wild,  glimmering  ways 
Thro'  creepers  and  vast  brush  beneath  gnarled  trees, 
Up  a  scorched  torrent's  bed.     Yet  still  refused 
Each  that  sure  shot ;  the  risk  too  desperate 
The  poor  life  and  the  golden  gift  beside. 
So  this  young  Kuno  with  two  eyes  wherein 

7 


73 


74  DER  FREISCHUTZ. 

Hunt  with  excitement  kindled  reckless  fire 
Clamored,  "  And  are  ye  cowards  ? — Good  your  grace, 
You  shall  not  chafe! — The  fiend  direct  my  ball !" 
And  fired  into  a  covert  deeply  packed. 
An  intertangled  wall  of  matted  night, 
Wherein  the  eye  might  vainly  strive  and  strive 
To  pierce  one  foot  or  earn  one  point  beyond. 
But,  ha !  the  huge  stag  staggered  from  the  brake 
Heart-hit  and  perished.     That  wan  wretch  unhurt 
Soon  bondless  lay  condoled.     But  the  great  Duke, 
Charmed  with  the  eagle  shot,  admired  the  youth, 
There  to  him  and  his  heirs  forever  gave 
The  forest  keepership. 

But  envious  tongues 
Were  soon  at  wag ;  and  whispered  went  the  tale 
Of  how  the  shot  was  free,  and  that  the  balls 
Used  by  young  Kuno  were  free  bullets,  which 
Molded  were  cast  in  influence  of  the  fiend 
By  magic  and  directed  by  the  fiend. 
Of  some  effect  these  tales  were  and  some  force 
Had  with  the  Duke,  who  lent  an  ear  so  far 
As  to  ordain  Kuno's  descendants  all 
To  proof  of  skill  ere  their  succession  to 
The  father's  office.     Kurt  himself  hath  shot 
The  silver  ring  from  out  the  popinjay's  beak — 
A  good  shot  he,  you  see,  who  would  succeed. 


DER  FREISCHUTZ.  75 

The  Devil  guards  his  mysteries  close  as  God. 
For  who  can  say  what  elementaries 
Demoniac  lurk  in  desolate  dells  and  woods 
Shadowy  ?  malicious  vassals  of  that  power 
Who  signs  himself,  thro'  these,  a  slave  to  those, 
Those  mortals  who  act  open  with  his  Hell, 
Those  only  who  seek  secretly  and  woo. 

Of  these  free,  fatal  bullets  let  me  speak : 
There  may  be  such ;  our  Earth  hath  things  as  strange ; 
Then  only  in  coarse  fancies  may  exist; 
For  fancy  is  among  our  peasantry 
A  limber  juggler  with  the  weird  and  dark; 
For  Superstition  hides  not  her  grim  face, 
A  skeleton  grin  on  leprous  ghastliness. 
From  Ignorance's  mossy  thatches  low, 

A  cross-way,  as  I  heard,  among  gaunt  hills, 
A  solitude  convulsed  of  rocks  and  trees 
Blasted ;  and  on  the  stony  cross-road  drawn 
A  bloody  circle  with  a  bloody  sword  ; 
Herein  rude  characters ;  a  skull  and  thighs 
Fantastic  fixed  before  a  fitful  fire 
Of  spiteful  coals.     Eleven  of  the  clock 
Cast,  the  first  bullet  leaves  the  mold, — the  lead 
Mixed  with  three  bullets  that  have  hit  their  mark, 
Burnt  blood, — the  wounded  Sacramental  Host, 
Unswallowed  and  unhallowed,  oozed  when  shot 


76  DER  FREISCHUTZ. 

Fixed  to  a  riven  pine. — Ere  twelve  o'clock, 
When  dwindling  specters  in  their  rotting  shrouds 
Quit  musty  tombs  to  mumble  hollow  woes 
In  Midnight's  horrored  ear,  with  never  a  cry, 
Word  or  weak  whisper,  till  that  hour  sound, 
Must  the  free  balls  be  cast ;  and  these  shall  be 
In  number  three  and  sixty;  three  of  which 
Semial — he  the  Devil's  minister — 
Claims  for  his  master  and  stamps  as  his  own 
To  hit  awry  their  mark,  askew  for  harm. 
Those  other  sixty  shall  not  miss  their  mark. 

No  cry,  no  word,  no  whisper,  tho'  there  gibe 
Most  monstrous  shapes  that  flicker  in  thick  mist 
Lewd  human  countenances  or  leer  out 
Swoln  animal  faces  with  fair  forms  of  men, 
While  wide-winged  owls  fan  the  drear,  dying  coals. 
That  lick  thin,  slender  tongues  of  purple  fire 
From  viperous  red,  and  croaks  the  night-hawk  near. 
No  cry,  no  word,  no  whisper  should  there  come 
Weeping  a  wandering  form  with  weary,  white 
And  pleading  countenance  of  her  you  love, 
Faded  with  tears  of  waiting ;  beckoning 
With  gray,  large  arms  or  censuring ;  her  shame 
In  dull  and  desolate  eyes ;  who,  if  you  speak 
Or  stagger  from  that  circle — hideous  change ! — 
Shrinks,  faced  a  hag  of  million  wrinkles,  which 


DER  FREISCHUTZ.  77 

Ridge  scaly  sharpness  of  protruding  bones, 

To  rip  you  limb  from  limb  with  taloned  claws. 

Nor  be  deceived  if  some  far  midnight  bell 

Boom  that  anticipated  hour,  nor  leave 

By  one  short  inch  the  bloody  orbit,  for 

The  minion  varlets  of  Hell's  majesty 

Expectant  cirque  its  dim  circumference. 

But  when  the  hour  of  midnight  smites,  be  sure 

You  have  your  bullets,  neither  more  nor  less ; 

For,  if  thro'  fear  one  more  or  less  you  have, 

Your  soul  is  forfeit  to  those  agencies, 

Right  rathe  who  are  to  rend  it  from  the  flesh. 

And  while  that  hour  of  midnight  sounds  a  din 

Of  hurrying  hoofs  and  shouting  outriders — 

Six  snorting  steeds  postilioned  roll  a  stage 

Black  and  with  groaning  wheels  of  spinning  fire, 

"  Room  there  ! — ho  !  ho! — who  bars  the  mountain-way  ! 

On  over  him !" — but  fear  not  nor  fare  forth, — 

'Tis  but  the  last  trick  of  your  bounden  slave : 

And  ere  the  red  moon  strives  from  dingy  clouds 

And  dives  again,  high  the  huge  leaders  leap 

Iron  fore-hoofs  flashing  and  big  eyes  like  gledes, 

And,  spun  a  spiral  spark  into  the  night, 

Whistling  the  phantom  flies  and  fades  away. 

Some  say  there  comes  no  stage,  but  Hackelnburg, 

Wild  Huntsman  of  the  Harz,  rides  hoarse  in  storm, 


78  DER  FREISCHUTZ. 

Dashing  the  dead  leaves  with  dark  dogs  of  hell 
Direful  thro'  whirling  thickets,  and  his  horn 
Croaks  doleful  as  an  owl's  hoot  while  he  hurls 
Straight  'neath  rain-streaming  skies  of  echoes,  sheer 
Plunging  the  magic  circle  horse  and  hounds. 
And  then  will  come,  plutonian  clad  and  slim, 
Upon  a  stallion  vast  intensely  black, 
Semial,  Satan's  lurid  minister, 
To  hail  you  and  inform  you  and  assure. — 

Enough !  these  wives-tales  heard  to  what  I've  seen ; 
To  Ammendorf  I  came ;  and  Rudolf  there 
With  Kurt  and  all  his  picturesque  foresters 
Met  me.     And  then  the  rounding  year  was  ripe ; 
Throbbing  the  red  heart  of  full  Autumn :  When 
Each  morning  gleams  crisp  frost  on  shriveled  fields ; 
Each  noon  sits  veiled  in  mysteries  of  mist ; 
Each  night  unrolls  a  miracle  woof  of  stars. 
Where  moon — bare-bosomed  goddess  of  the  hunt — 
Wades  calm,  crushed  clouds  or  treads  the  vaster  blue. 
Then  I  proposed  the  season's  hunt;  till  eve 
The  test  of  Rudolf's  skill  postponed,  with  which 
Annoyed  he  seemed.     And  so  it  was  I  heard 
How  he  an  execrable  marksman  was, 
And  whispered  tales  of  near,  incredible  shots 
That  wryed  their  mark,  while  in  his  flint-lock's  pan 
Flashed  often  harmless  powder,  while  wild  game 


DER  FREISCFIUTZ.  79 

Stared  fearless  on  him  and  indulgent  stood, 
An  open  butt  to  such  wide  marksmanship. 

Howbeit,  he  that  day  acquitted  him 
Of  these  maligners'  cavils ;  in  the  hunt 
Missing  no  shot  however  rash  he  made 
Or  distant  thro'  thick  intercepting  trees; 
And  the  piled,  curious  game  brought  down  of  all 
Good  marksmen  of  that  train  had  not  sufficed, 
Doubled,  nay,  trebled,  to  have  matched  his  heap. 
And  wonderstruck  Xki^jdgers  saw,  nor  knew 
How  to  excuse  them.     My  indulgence  giv'n, 
Still  swore  that  only  yesterday  old  Kurt 
Had  touched  his  daughter's  tears  and  Rudolf's  wrath 
By  vowing  end  to  their  betrothed  love, 
Unless  that  love  developed  better  aim 
Against  the  morrow's  test ;  his  ancestor's 
High  fame  should  not  be  damaged.     So  he  stormed, 
But  bowed  his  gray  head  and  wept  silently ; 
Then  looking  up  forgave  when  big  he  saw 
Tears  in  his  daughter's  eyes  and  Rudolf  gone 
Forth  in  the  night  that  wailed  with  coming  storm. 

Before  this  inn,  The  Owl,  assembled  came 
The  nice-primped  villagers  to  view  the  trial : 
YddY  frduleifis  and  blonde,  comely,  hedXihy  fraus ; 
Stout  burgers.     And  among  them  I  did  mark 
Kurt  and  his  daughter.     He,  a  florid  face 


8o  DER  FREISCHUTZ. 

Of  pride  and  joy  for  Rudolf's  strange  success ; 
She,  radiant  and  flounced  in  flowing  garb 
Of  bridal  white  deep-draped  and  crowned  with  flowers ; 
For  Kurt  insisted  this  their  marriage  eve 
Should  Rudolf  come  successful  from  the  chase. 
So  pleased  was  I  with  what  I'd  seen  him  do, 
The  test  of  skill  superfluous  seemed  and  so 
Was  on  the  bare  brink  of  announcement,  when, 
Out  of  the  evening  heaven's  hardening  red. 
Like  a  white  warning  loosed  for  augury, 
A  word  of  God  some  fallen  angel  prized 
As  his  last  all  of  heaven,  penitent, 
Hell-freed,  sent  minister  to  save  a  soul, 
A  wild  dove  clove  the  luminous  winds  and  there, 
A  wafted  waif,  pruned  settled  on  a  bough : 
Then  I,  "  Thy  weapon,  Rudolph,  pierce  its  head!" 
Cried  pointing,  "And  chief-forester  art  thou  !" 
Pale  as  a  mist  and  wavering  he  turned ; 
"  I  had  a  dream — "  then  faltered  as  he  aimed, 
"A  woman's  whim  !"  But  starting  from  the  press 
Screamed  Ilsabe,  "  My  dove !"  to  plead  its  life 
Came — cracked  the  rifle  and  untouched  the  dove 
Rose  beating  lustrous  wings,  but  Ilsabe — 
"  God's  wrath  !    the  sight !  " — fell  smitten,  and  the  blood 
Sprang  red  from  shattered  brow  and  silent  hair — 
That  bullet  strangely  thro'  her  brow  and  brain.  .  .   . 


DER  FREISCHUTZ.  8i 

And  what  of  Rudolf?  ah  !  of  him  you  ask? 
That  proud  Franconian  who  would  scoff  at  Fate 
And  scorn  all  state ;  who  cried  black  Satan  friend 
Sooner  than  our  white  Christ ; — why,  he  went  mad 
O'  the  moment,  and  into  the  haunted  Harz 
Fled,  an  unholy  thing,  and  perished  there 
The  prey  of  demons  of  the  Dummburg.     But 
I  one  of  few  less  superstitious  who 
Say,  as  the  finale  of  a  madman's  deed. 
He  in  the  Bode,  from  that  ragged  rock, 
The  Devil's  Dancing  Place,  did  leap  and  die. 


TO  REVERY. 

WHAT  ogive  gates  from  gold  of  Ophir  wrought, 
What  walls  of  bastioned  Parian,  lucid  rose, 
What  marts  of  crystal,  for  the  eyes  of  Thought 

Hast  builded  on  what  Islands  of  Repose! 
Vague  onyx  columns  ranked  Corinthian, 
Or  piled  Ionic,  colonnading  heights 

That  loom  above  long  burst  of  mythic  seas : 
Vast  gynaeceums  of  carnelian  ; 

Micaceous  temples,  far  marmorean  flights. 

Where  winds  the  arabesque  and  plastique  frieze. 

Where  bulbous  domes  of  coruscating  ore 

Cloud — like  convulsive  sunsets — lands  that  dream. 
Myrrh-fragrant,  over  siren  seas  and  hoar, 

Dashed  with  stiff,  breezy  foam  of  ocean's  stream. 
Tempestuous  architecture-revelries ; 

Built  melodies  of  marble  or  clear  glass  ; 

Effulgent  sculptures  chiseled  out  of  thought 
In  misty  attitudes,  whose  majesties 

Feed  full  the  pleasure  as  those  beauties  pass 
To  pale  extinctions  which  are  beauty  fraught. 


) 


TO  R EVERY. 


83 


On  rebeck  and  on  rose  in  plinths  of  spars, 

On  glimmering  solitudes  of  flower  and  stone, 
A  twilight-glow  swoons  settled,  burned  with  stars, 

Deep  violet  dusk  developing  nor  done. 
Where  float  fair  nacreous  shapes  like  deities, — 

Existences  of  glory  musical, —  [gold, 

'Round  whose  warm  hair  twist  fillets'  coiling 
Their  limbs  Olympian  lovely,  and  their  eyes 

Dark  oblique  fervors ;  and  most  languorous  tall 
In  woven  white  with  girdling  gold  threefold. 

There  darkling  the  consummate  vintage  sleeps, — 

Lethe-nepenthes  for  Earth-agony, — 
In  sealed  amphorae  some  Sybil  keeps. 

World-old,  forever  cellared  secretly. 
A  wine  of  Xeres  or  of  Syracuse? 

A  fierce  Falernian  ? — Ah  !  no  vile  Sabine  ! — 
A  stol'n  ambrosia  of  what  olden  god  ? 
Whose  bubbled  rubies  maiden  feet  did  bruise 

From  crusted  vats  of  vintage  rich,  I  ween, 
Vivacious  purple  of  some  Samian  sod. 

Oh,  for  the  cold  conclusion  of  one  draught ! 

Elysian  ecstacy  of  classic  earth  ! —  [laughed 

Where  heroes  warred  with  gods  and  where  gods 

In  eyes  of  mortal  brown,  a  lusty  mirth 


84  TO  R EVERY. 

Of  deity  delirious  with  desire : 

Where  danced  the  sacrifice  to  horned  shrines, 
And  splashed  the  full  libation  blue  as  blood. — 
Oh,  to  be  drunk  with  dreaming !  to  inspire 
The  very  soul  of  beauty  whence  it  shines 
Too  lost  for  utterance  yet  understood  ! 

In  cogitation  of  what  verdurous  shades, 

Dull-droning  quietudes  where  wild-bees  lolled 
Suck,  lulled  in  pulpy  lilies  of  the  glades, 

Barbaric-smothered  with  the  kerneled  gold  : 
Teased  by  some  torso  of  the  golden  age, 

Nude  breasts  of  Cytherea,  famous  fair, 
Uncestus'd,  yet  suggestive  of  what  loves 
Immortal!  yearn  enamoured;  or  to  rage 

With  sun-burnt  Poesy  whose  throat  breathes  bare 
O'er  leopard  skins  and  flute  among  her  groves. 


LATE   OCTOBER. 

AH,  haughty  hills,  sardonic  solitudes, 
11.     What  wizard  touch  hath,  crowning  you  with  gold, 
Cast  Tyrian  purple  o'er  broad-shouldered  woods, 

And  to  your  pride  anointed  empire  sold 
For  wan  traditioned  death,  whose  misty  moods 

Shake  each  huge  throne  of  quarried  shadows  cold  ? 

Now  where  the  agate-foliaged  forests  sleep, 
Bleak  briars  are  ruby-berried,  and  the  brush 

Flames — when  the  winds  armsful  of  motion  heap 
In  wincing  gusts  upon  it — amber  blush  ; 

The  beech  an  inner  beryle  breaks  from  deep 
Encrusting  topaz  of  a  sullen  flush. 

Dead  gold,  dead  bronze,  dull  amethystine  rose, 
Rose  cameo,  in  day's  gray,  somber  spar 

Of  smoky  quartz — intaglioed  beauty — glows 
Luxuriance  of  color.     Trunks  that  are 

Vast  organs  antheming  the  winds'  wild  woes 
A  faded  sun  and  pale  night's  paler  star. 


86  LATE  OCTOBER. 

Bulged  from  its  cup  the  dark-brown  acorn  falls, 
And  by  its  gnarly  saucer  in  the  streams 

Swells  plumped  ;  and  here  the  spikey  spruce-gum  balls 
Rust  maces  of  an  ouphen  host  that  dreams; 

Beneath  the  chestnut  the  split  burry  hulls 
Disgorge  fat  purses  of  sleek  satin  gleams. 

Burst  silver  white,  nods  an  exploded  husk 

Of  snowy,  woolly  smoke  the  milk-weed's  puff 

Along  the  orchard's  fence,  where  in  the  dusk 
And  ashen  weeds, — as  some  grim  Satyr's  rough 

Red,  breezy  cheeks  burn  thro'  his  beard, — the  brusque 
Crab  apples  laugh,  wind-tumbled  from  above. 

Runs  thro'  the  wasted  leaves  the  crickets'  click. 
Which  saddest  coignes  of  Melancholy  cheers ; 

One  bird  unto  the  sumach  flits  to  pick 

Red,  sour  seeds ;  and  thro'  the  woods  one  hears 

The  drop  of  gummy  walnuts ;  the  railed  rick 
Looms  tawny  in  the  field  where  low  the  steers. 

Some  slim  bud-bound  Leimoniad  hath  flocked, 
The  birds  to  Echo's  shores,  where  flossy  foams 

Boom  low  long  cream-white  cliffs. — Where  once  buzzed 
Unmillioned  bees  within  unmillioned  blooms,  [rocked 

One  hairy  hummer  cramps  one  bloom,  frost  mocked, — 
A  miser  whose  rich  hives  squeeze  oozing  combs. 


LATE  OCTOBER.  87 

Twist  some  lithe  maple  and  right  suddenly 
A  leafy  storm  of  stars  about  you  breaks — 

Some  Hamadryad's  tears :  Unto  her  knee 

Wading  the  Naiad  clears  her  brook  that  streaks 

Thro'  wadded  waifs  :  Hark  !  Pan  for  Helike 
Flutes  melancholy  by  the  minty  creeks. 


AN  ANEMONE. 

npEACH  me  the  wisdom  of  thy  beauty,  pray, 
1      That,  being  thus  wise,  I  may  aspire  to  see 
What  beauty  is,  whence,  why,  and  in  what  way 

Immortal,  yet  how  mortal  utterly: 
For,  shrinking  loveliness,  thy  brow  of  day 

Pleads  plaintive  as  a  prayer,  asemone. 

"  Teach  me  wood-wisdom,  I  am  petulant : 
Thou  hast  the  wildness  of  a  Dryad's  eyes, 

The  shyness  of  an  Oread's,  wild  plant : — 
Behold  the  bashful    goddess  where  she  lies 

Distinctly  delicate  ! — inhabitant 

Ambrosial-earthed,  star-cousin  of  the  skies. 

"  Teach  me  thy  wisdom,  for,  thro'  knowing,  yet. 
When  I  have  drunk  dull  Lethe  till  each  vein 

Thuds  full  oblivion,  I  shall  not  forget ; — 
For  beauty  known  is  beauty  ;  to  sustain 

Glad  memories  with  life,  while  mad  regret 
And  sorrow  perish,  being  Lethe  slain." 


AN  ANEMONE.  89 

"  Teach  thee  my  beauty  being  beautiful 

And  beauty  wise? — My  slight  perfections,  whole 

As  world,  as  man,  in  their  creation  full 
As  old  a  Power's  cogitation  roll. 

Teach  thee? — Presumption !  thought  is  young  and  dull — 
Question  thy  God  what  God  is,  soul  what  soul." 


8 


THE  RAIN-CROW. 

THEE  freckled  August,  dozing  hot  and  blonde 
Oft  'neath  a  wheat-stack  in  the  white-topped  mead — 
In  her  full  hair  brown  ox-eyed  daisies  wound—: 
O  water-gurgler,  lends  a  sleepy  heed : 
Half-lidded  eyes  a  purple  iron-weed 
Blows  slimly  o'er ;  beyond,  a  path-found  pond      [grasses, 
Basks  flint-bright,  hedged  with  pink-plumed  pepper- 
A  coigne  for  vainest  dragonflies,  which  glasses 
Their  blue  in  diamond. 

Oft  from  some  dusty  locust,  that  thick  weaves 
With  crescent  pulse-pods  its  thin   foliage  gray, 

Thou, — o'er  the  shambling  lane,  which  past  the  sheaves 
Of  sun-tanned  oats  winds,  red  with  rutty  clay, 

One  league  of  rude  rail-fence, — some  panting  day, 

When  each  parched  meadow  quivering  vapor  grieves, 
Nature's  Astrologist,  dost  promise  rain, 
In  seeping  language  of  the  thirsty  plain. 
Cool  from  the  burning  leaves. 


91 


THE  RAIN-CROW. 

And,  in  good  faith,  aye !  best  of  faith,  art  true ; 
And  welcome  that  rune-chuckled  forecasting, 

When  up  the  faded  fierceness  of  scorched  blue 
Strong  water-carrier  winds  big  buckets  bring, 
Black  with  stored  freshness  :  how  their  dippers  ring 

And  flash  and  rattle !  lavishing  large  dew 

On  tall,  good-humored  corn  that,  streaming  wet, 
Laughs  long ;  while  woods  and  leas,  shut  in  a  net 
Of  mist,  dream  vague  in  view. 


And  thou,  safe-housed  in  some  pawpaw  bower 
Of  close,  broad,  gold-green  leaves,  contented  art 

In  thy  prediction,  fall'n  within  the  hour; 

While  fuss  the  brown  bees  hiveward  from  the  heart 
Of  honey-filtering  bloom  ;  beneath  the  cart 

Droop  pompous  barnyard  cocks  damped  by  the  shower; 
And  deep-eyed  August,  bonnetless,  a  beech 
Hugs  in  disheveled  beauty,  safe  from  reach 
On  starry  moss  and  flower. 


LOVELINESS. 


I. 


\\' 


THEN  I  fare  forth  to  kiss  the  eyes  of  Spring, 
On  ways,  which  arch  gold  sunbeams  and  pearl 


Embraced,  two  whispers  we  search — wandering     [buds, 

By  goblin  forests  and  by  girlish  floods 

Deep  in  the  hermit-holy  solitudes — 
For  stalwart  Dryads  romping  in  a  ring; 

Firm  limbs  an  oak-bark-brown,  and  hair — wild  woods 
Have  perfumed — loops  of  radiance;   and  they, 

Most  coyly  pleasant,  as  we  linger  by, 

Pout  dimpled  cheeks,  more  rose  than  rosiest  sky, 
Honeyed ;  and  us  good-hearted  laughter  fling 
Like  far-out  reefs  that  flute  melodious  spray. 

n. 

Then  we  surprise  each  Naiad  ere  she  slips — 
Nude  at  her  toilette — in  her  fountain's  glass, 

With  damp  locks  dewy,  and  large  godlike  hips 
Cool-glittering ;  but  discovered,  when — alas  ! 
From  green,  indented  moss  and  plushy  grass, — 


LOVELINESS.  93 

Her  great  eyes'  pansy-black  reproaching, — dips 
She  white  the  cloven  waters  ere  we  pass  : 

And  a  broad,  orbing  ripple  makes  to  hide 

From  our  desirous  gaze  provoked  what  path 
She  gleaming  took ;  what  haunt  she  bashful  hath 

In  minnowy  freshness,  where  her  murmurous  lips 

Bubbling  make  merry  'neath  the  rocky  tide. 

III. 

Oft  do  we  meet  the  Oread  whose  eyes 

Are  dew-drops  where  twin  heavens  shine  confessed ; 
She,  all  the  maiden  modesty's  surprise 

Blushing  her  temples, — to  deep  loins  and  breast 

Tempestuous,  brown  bewildering  tresses  pressed, — 
Stands  one  scared  moment's  moiety,  in  wise 

Of  some  delicious  dream,  then  shrinks  distressed, 
Like  some  weak  wind  that,  haply  heard,  is  gone, 

In  rapport  with  shy  Silence  to  make  sound ; 

So,  like  storm  sunlight,  bares  clean  limbs  to  bound 
A  thistle's  flashing  to  a  woody  rise, 
A  graceful  glimmer  up  the  ferny  lawn, 

IV. 

Hear  Satyrs  and  Sylvanus  in  sad  shades 

Of  dozy  dells  pipe  :  Pan  and  Fauns  hark  dance 

With  rattling  hoofs  dim  in  low,  mottled  glades  : 
Hidden  in  spice-bush-bowered  banks,  perchance, 
Mark  Slyness  waiting  with  an  animal  glance 


94  LOVELINESS. 

The  advent  of  some  Innocence,  who  wades 
Thro'  thigh-deep  flowers,  naked  as  Romance, 

In  braided  shadows,  when  two  hairy  arms 
Hug  her  unconscious  beauty  panting  white; 
Till  tearful  terror,  struggling  into  might, 

Beats  the  brute  brow  resisting  ;  yields  and  fades, 

Exhausted,  to  the  grim  Lust  her  rich  charms. 


THE  LAST  SCION  OF  THE  HOUSE 
OF  CLARE. 

Yen'}'  13 . 


BARBICAN,  bartizan,  battlement, 
With  the  Abergavenny  mountains  blent, 
Look,  from  the  Raglan  tower  of  Gwent, 
My  lord  Hugh  Clifford's  ancient  home 
Shows,  clear  morns  of  the  Spring  or  Summer, 
Thrust  out  like  thin  flakes  o'  a  silver  foam 
From. a  climbing  cloud,  for  the  hills  gloom  glummer, 
Being  shaggy  with  heath,  yon. — I  was  his  page ; 
A  favorite  then ;  and  he  of  that  age 
When  a  man  will  love  and  be  loved  again. 
Or  die  in  the  wars  or  a  monastery: 
Or  toil  till  he  stifle  his  heart's  hard  pain, 
Or  drink,  drug  his  hopes  and  his  lost  love  bury. 
I  was  his  page ;  and  often  we  fared 
Thro'  the  Clare  desmene  in  Autumn  hawking — 
If  the  baron  had  known  how  he  would  have  glared 
From  their  bushy  brows  eyes  dark  with  mocking ! 


gS        THE  LAST  SCION  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  CLARE. 

— That  last  of  the  Strongbows,  Richard,  I  mean — 

Had  growled  to  his  yeomen,  "  A  score  !  mount,  Keene  ! 

Forth  and  spit  me  this  Clifford,  or  hang 

With  his  crop-eared  page  to  the  closest  oak!" 

For  he  and  the  Cliffords  had  ever  a  fang 

In  the  other's  side,  .  .  .  but  I  see  him  choke 

And  strangle  with  wrath  when  his  hawker  told — 

If  he  told ! — how  we  met  on  that  flowery  wold 

His  daughter,  sweet  Hortense  of  Clare,  the  day 

Her  hooded  tiercel  its  brails  did  burst 

To  trail  with  its  galling  jesses  away; 

An  untrained  haggard  the  falconer  cursed. 

Vain  whistled  to  lure ;  when  the  eyas  sped 

Slant,  low  and  heavily  overhead 

By  us  ;  and  Sir  Hugh, — who  had  just  then  cast 

His  peregrine  fierce  at  a  heron-quarry, — 

In  his  stirrups  rising,  thus — as  it  passed, 

By  the  jesses  caught  and  to  her  did  carry, 

Lingering  slender  and  tall  by  a  rose 

Whence  she  pulled  the  berries — But  no  two  foes 

Her  eyes  and  Sir  Hugh's  ! — And  I  swear  each  felt 

A  song  in  their  hearts! — For  I  heard  him  quaver 

Somewhat  and  then — by  Mary! — he  knelt! — 

And  the  Lady  herself  in  her  words  did  waver 

And  wonder  with  smiles.     Then  daintily  took 

The  hawk  on  her  fist  where  it  pruned  and  shook 


THE  LAST  SCION  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  CLARE.       97 

Its  callowness  ragged,  as  Hugh  did  seize 

Softly  the  other  hand  long  and  white, — 

Reached  forth  to  him  craving  him  rise  from  his  knees, — 

And  mouthed  with  moist  kisses  an  hundred  quite. 

Tho'  she  blushed  up  burning,  no  frowned  "  Beware!" 

But  seemed  so  happy  !  when  crushing  thro' — 

Her  sturdy  retainer  with  swarthy  stare — 

The  underwoods  burst;  and  her  maiden  crew 

Drew  near  them  naming  her  name,  and  came 

With  leaves  and  dim  Autumn  blossoms  aflame. — 

"Their  words?"  I  know  not!  for  how  should  I? — 

I  paged  my  master  but  was  no  spy. 

Nothings,  I  think,  as  all  lovers',  you  know; 

Yet  how  should  I  hear  such  whispered  low. 

Quick  by  the  wasted  woodland  yellow? 

When  up  thro'  the  brush  thrashed  that  burly  fellow 

With  his  ale-coarse  face,  and  so  made  a  pause 

In  the  pulse  of  their  words,  there  my  lord  Sir  Hugh 

Stood  with  the  soil  on  his  knee :  No  cause 

Had  he — but  his  hanger  he  halfway  drew — 

Then  paused,  thrust  it  clap  in  its  sheath  again 

And  bowed  to  the  Lady  and  strode  away ; 

Up,  vault,  on  his  steed — and  we  rode  amain 

Gay  to  his  towers  that  merry  day. 

He  loved  and  was  loved, — why,  I  knew ! — for  look, 
All  other  sports  for  the  chase  he  forsook ; 

9 


98        THE  LAST  SCION  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  CLARE. 

To  ride  in  the  Raglan  marches  and  hawk 

And  to  hunt  and  to  wander.     And  found  a  lair, 

In  the  Strongbow  forest,  of  bush  and  of  rock, 

Of  moss  and  thick  ferns ;  where  Hortense  of  Clare, 

How  often  I  wis  not,  met  him  by  chance — 

Perhaps  ! — Sweet  sorceress  out  of  romance, 

Those  tomes  of  Geoffrey — for  she  was  fair ! 

Her  large,  warm  eyes  and  hair,  .  .  .  ah,  hair, 

How  may  one  picture  or  liken  it! 

With  the  golden  gloss  of  its  full  brown,  fit 

For  the  Viviane  face  of  lovable  white 

Beneath ; — like  a  star  that  a  cloud  of  night 

Stops  over  to  threaten  but  never  will  drench 

Its  tremulous  beauty  with  mists  that  quench. — 

Heigho ! — but  they  ceased,  those  meetings.     I  wot 

Watched  of  the  baron,  his  menial  crew; 

For  she  loved  too  well  to  have  once  forgot 

The  place  and  the  time  of  their  trysting  true. 

But  she  came  not — ah  I  and  again  came  not: 

"  Why  a7id  when  ?"  would  question  Sir  Hugh 

In  his  labored  scrawls  a  crevice  of  rock — 

The  lovers'  post — in  its  coigne  would  lock. 

Until  near  Yule  Love  gat  them  again 

A  twilight  tryst — by  frowardness  sure. — 

They  met.     And  that  day  was  gray  with  rain — 


THE  LAST  SCION  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  CLARE. 

Or  snow,  and  the  wind  did  ever  endure 
A  long,  bleak  moaning  thorough  the  wood. 
Smarted  the  cheek  and  chapped  i'  the  blood ; 
And  a  burne  in  the  forest  cried  "sob  and  sob," 
And  whimpered  forever  a  chopping  throb 
Thro'  the  rope-taunt  boughs  like  a  thing  pursued. 
— And  there  it  was  that  he  learned  how  she 
(My  faith  !  how  it  makes  me  burn  and  quiver 
To  think  what  a  miserable  despot  he — 
Lord  Richard  Strongbow,  aye  and  ever 
To  his  daughter  was  !)  forsooth  !  must  wed 
With  an  Eastern  Earl — some  Lovell :  one  whom 
(That  God  in  His  mercy  had  smote  him  dead !) 
Hortense  of  Clare — but  in  baby  bloom — 
Never  had  mirrored  with  maiden  eyes. 
Sealed  over  a  baby  to  strengthen  some  ties — 
Of  power  or  wealth — had  been  bartered  then 
And  sold  and  purchased,  and  now  .  .  .  but  when 
To  her  lover,  the  Clifford,  she  told  this — there 
He  had  faced  with  his  love  the  talons  of  Death — 
Only  for  her,  who  did  stay  with  a  stare 
Of  reproach  all  his  heat  and  say  in  a  breath, 
"  Is  love,  that  thou  sware  to  me  aye  and  so  often, 
To  live  too  feeble  or — how  ? — doth  it  soften 
And  weaken  away  and — to  die  ? — why  die  ? — 
Live  and  be  strong!  and  this  is  why." — 


99 


lOo      THE  LAST  SCION  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  CLARE. 

Her  words  are  glued  here  so !  ....  I  remember 
All  as  well  as  that  sullen  December, 
That  blustered  and  bullied  about  them  and 
Spat  stiff  its  spiteful  and  cold-cutting  snow 
Where  they  talked  there  dreamily  hand  in  hand, 
While  the  rubbing  boughs  clashed  rattling  low. 
Her  last  words  these,  "  By  curfew  sure 
On  Christmas  eve  at  the  postern  door." 

And  we  were  there,  and  a  void  horse  too  : 

Armed:  for  a  journey  I  hardly  knew 

Whither,  but  why  you  well  can  guess. 

I  could  have  uttered  a  certain  name — 

Our  comrade's  sure — of  what  loveliness ! 

Waited  with  love,  impatience  aflame. 

While  Raglan  bulged  its  baronial  girth 

To  roar  to  its  battlements  Yule  and  song ; 

Retainers  loud  rollicked  in  wassail  and  mirth 

Where  the  mistletoe  'round  the  vast  hearths  hung, 

And  holly  beberried  the  elden  wall 

Of  curious  oak  in  the  banqueting  hall. 

And  the  spits,  I  trow,  by  the  scullions  turned 

O'er  the  snoring  logs,  rich  steamed  and  burned 

With  flesh ;  where  the  whole  wild-boar  was  roasted 

And  the  dun-deer  flanks  and  the  roebuck  haunches  ; 

Fat  tuns  of  ale,  that  the  cellars  boasted, 


THE  LAST  SCION  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  CLARE.    loi 

Old  casks  of  wine  were  broached  for  paunches 

Of  the  vassals  that  reveled  in  bower  and  stall ; 

Pale  pages  who  diced  and  bluff  henchmen  who  quarr'led 

Or  swore  in  their  cups,  while  lean  mastiffs  all, 

O'er  bones  of  the  feast  in  their  kennels  snarled  ; 

For  Hortense — drink  !  drink  ! — by  the  Virgin's  leave, 

Were  wed  to  this  Lovell  this  Christmas  Eve. 

"Was  she  long — Did  she  come?"  .    .    .    .  By  that  post- 
ern we 
Like  shadows  lurked.     Said  my  lord  Sir  Hugh : 
"Yon  tower,  remember  ! — that  casement,  see  ! — 
When  a  stealthy  light  in  its  slit  burns  blue 
And  signals  thrice  slowly,  thus — 'tis  she," 
And  about  his  person  his  gaberdine  drew, 
For  the  wind  it  hugged  and  the  snow  beat  thro'. 
Did  she  come  ? — We  had  watched  for  an  hour  or  twain 
Ere  that  light  burned  there  in  the  central  pane 
And  was  flourished  thrice  and  departed  so. 
Then  closer  we  packed  to  the  postern  portal 
Horses  and  all  in  the  stinging  snow. 
Stiff  with  the  cold  was  I. — Immortal 
Minutes  we  waited  breath-bated  and  listened 
Shuddering  there  in  the  gusty  gale. 
Whizzing  o'er  parapets  sifted  and  glistenf<* 
Wild  drift,  thro'  battlements  hissed  ij;v'    /eil. 


I02     THE  LAST  SCION  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  CLARE. 

Quoth  my  lord  Sir  Hugh,  for  his  love  was  a-heat, 

"She  feels  for  the  spring  in  the  hidden  panel 

'Neath  the  tapestry  ....  ah  !  thou  hast  pressed  it,  sweet ! 

— How  black  gulps  open  the  secret  channel ! 

Now  cautiously  step,  and  thy  bridal  garb 

Swirled  warm  with  a  mantle  o'  fur.  .  .  .  she  plants 

One  foot — then  a  pause — on  the  stair — So,  Barb, 

So ! — If  the  tempest  that  barks  and  pants 

Would  throttle  itself  with  its  yelps !  then  I 

Might  hear  but  one  footstep  echo  and  sing 

Down  the  ugly.  .  .  .  there  !  'tis  her  fingers  try 

The  massy  bolts  which  the  rust  makes  cling." 

But  ever  some  whim  of  the  wind  that  shook 

The  clanging  ring  of  a  creaking  hook 

In  the  buttress  or  wall ;  and  we  waited  so 

Till  the  East  grew  gray.     Did  she  come  ? — ah,  no  ! 

I  must  tell  you  why,  and  enough  :  'Tis  said 

On  the  eve  of  the  marriage  she  fled  the  side 

Of  the  baron,  the  bridegroom  too  she  fled. 

With  a  mischievous  laugh,  'Til hide!  P II  hide  ! 

Seek !  and  be  sure  to  seek  well !"  and  led 

A  wild  chase  after  her,  but  defied 

All  search  for — a  score  and  ten  more  years. 

And  the  laughter  of  Yule  was  changed  to  tears,     [glare 

But  they  searched  and  the  snow  was  bleared  with  the 


THE  LAST  SCION  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  CLARE.     103 

Of  torches  that  hurried  thro'  chamber  and  stair; 
And  tower  and  court  re-echoed  her  name, 
But  she  laughed  no  answer  and  never  came. 

So  over  the  channel  to  France  with  his  King 

And  the  Black  Prince,  sailed  to  the  wars — to  deaden 

The  ache  of  the  mystery — Hugh  that  Spring, 

And  fell  at  Poitiers :  for  his  loss  lay  leaden 

On  hope,  and  his  life  was  a  weary  sadness, 

So  he  flung  it  away  with  a  very  gladness. 

And  the  baron  died — and  the  bridegroom,  well, — 

Unlucky  that  bridegroom,  sooth  ! — to  tell 

Of  him  there  is  nothing.     The  baron  died; 

The  last  of  the  Strongbows  he,  gramercy ! 

And  the  Clare  estate  with  its  wealth  and  its  pride 

Devolved  to  the  Bloets,  Walter  or  Percy. 

Ten  years  and  a  score  thereafter.     And  they 
Ransacked  the  old  castle  and  mark  ! — one  day 
In  a  lonesome  tower  uprummaged  a  chest 
From  Flanders,  of  sinister  ebon,  carved 
Sardonic  with  masks  'round  an  olden  crest. 
Gargoyle  faces  distorted  and  starved  : 
Fast  fixed  with  a  spring  which  they  forced  and  lo  ! 
When  they  opened  it — ha,  Hortense  ! — or,  no  ! — 
Fantastic  a  skeleton  jeweled  and  wreathed 


I04     THE  LAST  SCION  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  CLARE. 

With  flowers  of  dust,  and  a  minever 

About  it  hugged,  which  quaint  richness  sheathed 

Of  a  bridal  raiment  and  lace  with  fur. 

— I'd  have  given  such  years  of  my  life — yes,  well ! — 

As  were  left  me  then  so  her  lover,  Hugh, 

For  such  time  breathed  as  it  took  one  to  tell 

How  she  forever,  deemed  false,  was  true  ! 

He'd  have  known  how  it  was,  "  For,  you  see,  in  groping 

For  the  puny  spring  of  that  panel — hoping 

And  fearing  as  nearer  and  nearer  grew 

The  boisterous  scramble — why,  out  she  blew 

Her  windy  taper  and  quick — in  this  chest 

Wary  would  lie  for — a  minute,  mayhap, 

Till  the  hurry  all  passed  ;  but  the  death-lock  pressed 

— Ere  her  heart  was  aware — with  a  hungry  snap." 


ON  THE   JELLICO-SPUR. 

To  Mv  Fribnd,  John  Fox,  Jr. 

YOU  remember,  the  deep  mist, — 
Climbing  to  the  Devil's  Den — 
Blue  beneath  us  in  the  glen 

And  above  us  amethyst, 

Throbbed  and  circled  and  away 
Thro'  the  wild-woods  opposite, 
Torn  and  shattered,  morning-lit. 

Scurried  up  a  dewy  gray. 

Vague  as  in  Romance  we  saw 
From  the  fog  one  riven  trunk, 
Its  huge  horny  talons  shrunk. 

Thrust  a  hungry  dragon's  claw. 

And  we  climbed  two  hours  thro' 
The  dawn-dripping  Jellicoes, 
To  that  wooded  rock  that  shows 

Undulating  peaks  of  blue: 

The  vast  Cumberlands  that  sleep, 
Weighed  with  soaring  forests,  far 
To  the  concave  welkin's  bar, 


io6  ON  THE  JELLICO-SPUR. 

Leagues  on  leagues  of  purple  sweep. 

Range  exalted  over  range 

Billowed  their  enormous  spines, 
And  we  heard  the  priestly  pines 

Hum  the  wisdom  of  their  change. 

We  were  sons  of  Nature  then ; 
She  had  taken  us  to  her, 
Closer  drawn  by  brier  and  burr, 

There  on  lonely  Devil's  Den. 

We  were  pupils  of  her  moods : 
Taught  the  beauties  of  her  loins 
In  those  bloom-anointed  coignes, — 

Love  in  her  eternal  woods  : 

How  she  bore  or  flower  or  bud; 
Pithed  the  wiry  sapling-oak  ; 
In  the  long  vine  zeal  awoke 

Aye  to  climb  a  leafy  flood. 

Her  waste  fantasies  of  birth  : 
Sponge-like  exudations  fair — 
Dainty  fungi  everywhere 

Bulging  from  the  loamy  earth. 

Coral-vegetable  things; 
Crystals  clamily  exhaled ; 
Bulbous,  marble-ribbed  and  scaled, 

Vip'rous  colored  ;  then  close  rings 

Of  the  Indian  Pipe  that  cleft 


ON  THE  JELLICO-SPUR.  107 

Pink  and  white  the  woodland  lax, — 

Blossoms  of  a  natural  wax 
The  brown  mountain-fairies  left. 
We  on  that  parched  precipice, 

Stretched  beneath  the  chestnuts'  burrs, 

Breathed  the  balsam  of  the  firs, 
Felt  the  blue  sky  like  a  kiss. 
Soft  that  heaven  ;  stainless  as 

The  grand  woodlands  lunging  on, 

Wound  majestic  in  the  sun. 
Or  as  our  devotion  was  ! 
Freedom  sat  there  cragged  we  saw. 

Freedom  whom  hoarse  forests  sang; 

Heaven-browed  her  eyes,  whence  sprang 
Audience  august  with  law. 
Wildernesses,  from  her  hips 

Sprung  the  giant  forests  there. 

Tossed  the  cataracts  from  her  hair, 
Thunders  lightened  from  her  lips. 
Oft  some  scavenger,  with  vane 

Motionless,  above  we  knew 

Wheeled  thro'  altitudes  of  blue 
By  his  rapid  shadow's  stain. 
Or  some  cloud  of  sunny  white, — 

Puffed  a  lazy  drift  of  pearl, — 

Balmy  breezes  o'er  would  whirl 


1 08  ON  THE  JELLICO-SPUR. 

Shot  with  coruscating  light. 

So  we  dreamed  an  hour  upon 

Those  warm  rocks,  dry,  lichen-scabbed. 
Lounged  beneath  long  leaves  that  dabbed 

At  us  coins  of  shade  and  sun. 

Then  arose  and  down  some  gorge 
Made  a  bowldered  torrent  broad 
The  hurled  pathway  of  our  road 

Tumbled  down  the  mountain  large. 

At  that  farm-house,  which  you  know, 
Where  old-fashioned  flowers  spun 
Gay  rag-carpets  in  the  sun, 

By  green  apple-boughs  built  low. 

Rested  from  our  hot  descent ; 
One  deep  draught  of  cider  cool, 
Unctuous,  our  fierce  veins  to  dull 

At  old  Hix's  eloquent.  .  .  . 

On  Wolf  Mountain  died  the  light; 
A  colossal  blossom,  rayed 
With  rent  petaled  clouds  that  played 

'Round  a  calyxed  fury  bright. 

Down  the  moist  mint-scented  vale 
To  the  mining  camp  we  turned, 
Thro'  the  twilight  faint  discerned 

With  its  crowded  cabins  pale. 

Ah  !  those  nights  ! — We  wandered  forth 


ON  THE  JELLICO-SPUR.  109 

On  some  shadow-haunted  path 

When  the  moon  was  late  and  rathe 
The  large  stars  ;  sowed  south  and  north, 
Clustered  bursting  heavens  down  : 

And  the  milky  zodiac, 

Rolled  athwart  the  belted  black, 
Myriad-million-moted  shone. 
And  in  dreams  we  sauntered  till 

In  the  valley  pale  beneath, 

From  a  dew-drop's  vapored  breath 
To  faint  ghosts,  there  gathered  still. 
Grave  creations  weird  of  mist: 

Then  we  knew  the  moonrise  near. 

As  with  necromance  the  air 
Pulsed  to  pearl  and  amethyst. 
Shrilled  the  insects  of  the  dusk, 

Grated,  buzzed  and  strident  sung 

Till  each  leaf  seemed  tuned  and  strung 
For  high  Pixy  music  brusque. 
Stealing  steps  and  stealthy  sighs 

As  of  near  unhallowed  things, 

Rustled  hair  or  fluttered  wings, 
Seemed  about  us;  then  the  eyes 
Of  plumed  phantom  warriors 

Burned  mesmeric  from  some  bush 

Mournful  in  the  goblin  hush, 


no  ON  THE  JELLICO-SPUR. 

Then  materialized  to  stars. 

Mantled  mists  like  ambushed  braves, 

Chiefed  by  some  swart  Blackfoot  tall, 

Stole  along  each  forest  wall — 
Phosphorescent  moony  waves. 
Then  the  moon  rose  ;  from  some  cup 

Each  hill's  bowl, — magnetic  shine, 

Mist  and  silence  poured  like  wine, — 
Brimmed  a  monster  goblet  up. 
Ingot  from  lost  orient  mines, 

Delved  by  humpbacked  gnomes  of  Night, 

Full  her  orb  loomed,  nacreous  white, 
O'er  Pine  Mountain's  druid  pines. 
As  thro'  fragmentary  fleece 

Her  circumference  polished  broke, 

Orey-seamed,  about  us  woke 
Myths  of  Italy  and  Greece. 
Then — a  chanson  serenade — 

You,  rich-voiced,  to  your  guitar 

To  our  goddess  in  that  star 
Sang  ''Ne  Tempo''  from  the  glade. 


SENORITA. 

AN  agate  black  thy  roguish  eyes 
il     Claim  no  proud  lineage  of  skies, 
No  velvet  blue,  but  of  sweet  Earth, 
Rude,  reckless  witchery  and  mirth. 

Looped  in  thy  raven  hair's  repose, 
A  hot  aroma,  one  tame  rose 
Dies  envious  of  that  beauty  where, — 
By  being  near  which, — it  is  fair. 

Thy  ears, — two  dainty  bits  of  song 
Of  unpretending  charm,  which  wrong 
Would  jewels  rich,  whose  restless  fire 
Courts  coarse  attention, — such  inspire. 

Slim  hands,  that  crumple  listless  lace 
About  thy  white  breasts'  swelling  grace. 
And  falter  at  thy  samite  throat, 
To  such  harmonious  efforts  float. 

Seven  stars  stop  o'er  thy  balcony 
Cored  in  taunt  heaven's  canopy; 
No  moon  flows  up  the  satin  night 
In  pearl-pierced  raiment  spun  of  light. 


1,2  SEiJORITA. 

From  orange  orchards  dark  in  dew 
Vague,  odorous  lips  the  West  wind  blew, 
Or  thou,  a  new  Angelica 
From  Ariosto,  breath'd'st  Cathay. 

Oh,  stoop  to  me  and  speaking  reach 
My  soul  like  song,  that  learned  low  speech 
From  some  sad  instrument,  who  knows  ? 
Or  bloom, — a  dulcimer  or  rose. 


LEANDER  TO  HERO. 

I. 

BROWS  wan  thro'  blue-black  tresses 
Wet  with  sharp  rain  and  kisses ; 
Locks  loose  the  sea-wind  scatters, 
Like  torn  wings  fierce  for  flight ; 
Cold  brows,  whose  sadness  flatters, 
One  kiss  and  then — good-night. 

IL 

Can  this  thy  love  undo  me 

When  in  the  heavy  waves  ? 
Nay;  it  must  make  unto  me 

Their  groaning  backs  but  slaves  ! 
For  its  magic  doth  indue  me 

With  strength  o'er  all  their  graves. 

in. 

Weep  not  as  heavy-hearted 

Before  I  go  !  For  thou 
Wilt  follow  as  we  parted — 
A  something  hollow-hearted, 

10 


114  LEANDER  TO  HERO. 

Dark  eyes  whence  cold  tears  started, 
Gray,  ghostly  arms  out-darted 

To  take  me,  even  as  now, 
To  drag  me,  their  weak  lover, 
To  caves  where  sirens  hover. 
Deep  caves  the  dark  waves  cover, 

Down  !  throat  and  hair  and  brow. 

IV. 
But  in  thy  sleep  shalt  follow — 

Thy  bosom  fierce  to  mine, 
Long  arms  wound  warm  and  hollow,- 
In  sleep,  in  sleep  shalt  follow, — 

To  save  me  from  the  brine  ; 

Dim  eyes  on  mine  divine  ; 

Deep  breath  at  mine  like  wine ; 
Sweet  thou,  with  dream-soft  kisses 

To  dream  me  onward  home, 
White  in  white  foam  that  hisses, 

Love's  creature  safe  in  foam. 

V. 

What,  Hero,  else  for  weeping 
Than  long,  lost  hours  of  sleeping 
And  vestal-vestured  Dreams, 
Where  thy  Leander  stooping 


LEANDER  TO  HERO. 

Sighs ;  no  dead  eyelids  drooping  ; 
No  harsh,  hard  looks  accusing  ; 
No  curls  with  ocean  oozing  ; 
But  then  as  now  he  seems, 

Sweet-favored  as  can  make  him 
Thy  smile,  which  is  a  might, 

A  hope,  a  god  to  take  him 
Thro'  all  this  hell  of  night. 

VI. 

Then  where  thy  breasts  are  hollow 

One  kiss  !  one  kiss  !    I  go  ! 
Sweet  soul !  a  kiss  to  follow 
Up  whence  thy  breasts  bud  hollow, 
Cheeks  than  wood-blossoms  whiter. 
Eyes  than  dark  waters  brighter 

Wherein  the  far  stars  glow. 
Look  lovely  when  I  leave  thee ! — 

I  go,  my  love,  I  go  ! 
Look  lovely,  love,  nor  grieve  thee, 

That  I  must  leave  thee  so. 


"5 


MUSAGETES. 

FOR  the  mountains'  hoarse  greetings  came  hollow 
From  stormy  wind-chasms  and  caves, 
And  I  heard  their  wild  cataracts  wallow 
Huge  bulks  in  long  spasms  of  waves, 
And  that  Demon  said,  "Lo!  you  must  follow! 
And  our  path  is  o'er  myriads  of  graves." 

Then  I  felt  that  the  black  earth  was  porous 
And  rotten  with  worms  and  with  bones  ; 

And  I  knew  that  the  ground  that  now  bore  us 
Was  cadaverous  with  Death's  skeletons  ; 

And  I  saw  horrid  eyes,  heard  sonorous 
And  dolorous  gnashings  and  groans. 

But  the  night  of  the  tempest  and  thunder, 

The  might  of  the  terrible  skies. 
And  the  fire  of  Hell  that, — coiled  under 

The  hollow  Earth, — smoulders  and  sighs, 
And  the  laughter  of  stars  and  their  wonder 

Mingled  and  mixed  in  its  eyes. 


\ 


MUSAGETES.  I17 

And  we  clomb — and  the  moon  old  and  sterile 
Clomb  with  us  o'er  torrent  and  scar! 

And  I  yearned  towards  her  oceans  of  beryl. 
Wan  mountains  and  cities  of  spar — 

'"Tis  not  well,"  that  one  said,  "you're  in  peril 
Of  falling  and  failing  your  star," 

And  we  clomb — through  a  murmur  of  pinions. 

Thin  rattle  of  talons  and  plumes ; 
And  a  sense  as  of  Boreal  dominions 

Clove  down  to  the   abysms  and  tombs ; 
And  the  Night's  naked,  Ethiope  minions 

Swarmed  on  us  in  legions  of  glooms. 

And  we  clomb — till  we  stood  at  the  portal 
Of  the  uttermost  point  of  the  peak, 

And  it  led  with  a  step  more  than  mortal 
Far  upward  some  presence  to  seek; 

And  I  felt  that  this  love  was  immortal, 
This  love  which  had  made  me  so  weak. 

We  had  clomb  till  the  limbo  of  spirits 

Of  darkness  and  crime  deep  below 
Swung  nebular;  nor  could  we  hear  its 

Lost  waitings  and  moanings  of  woe, — 
For  we  stood  in  a  realm  that  inherits 

A  vanquishing  virgin  of  snow. 


THE  QUARREL. 

COULD  I  divine  how  her  gray  eyes 
Gat  such  cold  haughtiness  of  skies ; 

How,  some  wood-flower's  shadow  brown, 
Dimmed  her  fair  forehead's  wrath  a  frown ; 

How,  rippled  sunshine  blown  thro'  air, 
Tossed  scorn  her  eloquence  of  hair; 

How  to  a  folded  bud  again 

She  drew  her  blossomed  lips'  disdain ; 

Naught  deigning  save  eyes'  utterance. 
Star-words,  which  quicker  reach  the  sense; 

Then,  afterwards,  how  melted  there 
The  austere  woman  to  one  tear ; 

Then  were  I  wise  to  know  how  grew 

This  star-stained  miracle  of  blue. 

How  God  makes  wild  flowers  out  of  dew. 


THE  MOOD  O'  THE  EARTH. 


M 


Y  heart  is  high,  is  high,  my  dear, 
And  the  warm  wind  sunnily  blows ; 
My  heart  is  high  with  a  mood  that 's  cheer. 
And  burns  like  a  sun-blown  rose. 


My  heart  is  high,  is  high,  my  dear, 

And  the  Heaven's  deep  skies  are  blue ; 

My  heart  is  high  as  the  passionate  year, 
And  smiles  like  a  bud  in  dew. 

My  heart,  my  heart  is  high,  my  sweet, 
For  wild  is  the  smell  o'  the  wood, 

That  gusts  in  the  breeze  with  a  pulse  o'  heat. 
Mad  heat  that  beats  like  a  blood. 

My  heart,  my  heart  is  high,  my  sweet. 
And  the  sense  of  summer  is  full; 

A  sense  of  summer, — full  fields  of  wheat, 
Full  forests  and  waters  cool. 


I20  THE  MOOD  &    THE  EARTH. 

My  heart  is  high,  is  high,  my  heart. 
As  the  bee's  that  groans  and  swinks 

In  the  dabbled  flowers  that  dart  and  part 
To  his  woolly  bulk  when  he  drinks. 

My  heart  is  high,  is  high,  my  heart, — 
Oh,  sing  again,  O  good,  gray  bird, 

That  I  may  get  that  lilt  by  heart. 
And  fit  each  note  with  a  word. 

God's  saints!  I  tread  the  air,  my  dear! 

Flow  one  with  the  running  wind ; 
And  the  stars  that  stare  I  swear,  my  dear. 

Right  soon  in  my  hair  I'll  find. 

To  live  high  up  a  life  of  mist 

With  the  white  things  in  white  skies. 

With  their  limbs  of  pearl  and  of  amethyst, 
Who  laugh  blue  humorous  eyes! 

Or  to  creep  and  to  suck  like  an  elfin  thing 
To  the  aching  heart  of  a  rose ; 

In  the  harebell's  ear  to  cling  and  swing 
And  whisper  what  no  one  knows  ! 

\, 

To  live  on  wild  honey  as  fresh  as  thin 

As  the  rain  that's  left  in  a  flower. 

And  roll  forth  golden  from  feet  to  chin 

In  the  god-flower's  Danae  shower ! 


THE  MOOD  0'    THE  EARTH.  121 

Or  free,  full-throated  curve  back  the  throat 

With  a  vigorous  look  at  the  blue, 
And  sing  right  staunch  with  a  lusty  note 

Like  the  hawk  hurled  where  he  flew! 

God's  life !  the  blood  of  the  Earth  is  mine ! 

And  the  mood  of  the  Earth  I'll  take, 
And  brim  my  soul  with  her  wonderful  wine. 

And  sing  till  my  heart  doth  break  ! 


II 


A  GRAY  DAY. 


10NG  vollies  of  wind  and  of  rain 
J     And  the  rain  on  the  drizzled  pane, 
And  the  eve  falls  chill  and  murk  ; 
But  on  yesterday's  eve  I  know 
How  a  horned  moon's  thorn-like  bow 
Stabbed  rosy  thro'  gold  and  thro'  glow, 
Like  a  rich  barbaric  dirk. 


II. 


Now  thick  throats  of  the  snapdragons,- 
Who  hold  in  their  hues  cool  dawns, 

Which  a  healthy  yellow  paints, — 
Are  filled  with  a  sweet  rain  fine 
Of  a  jaunty,  jubilant  shine, 
A  faery  vat  of  rare  wine, 

Which  the  honey  thinly  taints. 


A  GRAY  DAY.  jj^ 


III. 

Now  dabble  the  poppies  shrink, 
And  the  coxcomb  and  the  pink ; 

While  the  candytuft's  damp  crown 
Droops  dribbled,  low  bowed  i'  the  wet ; 
And  long  spikes  o'  the  mignonette 
Little  musk-sacks  open  set, 

Which  the  dripping  o'  dew  drags  down. 

IV. 

Stretched  taunt  on  the  blades  of  grass, 
Like  a  gossamer-fibered  glass. 

Which  the  garden-spider  spun. 
The  web,  where  the  round  rain  clings 
In  its  middle  sagging,  swings; — 
A  hammock  for  Elfin  things 

When  the  stars  succeed  the  sun. 

V. 

And  mark,  where  the  pale  gourd  grows 
Up  high  as  the  clambering  rose. 

How  that  tiger-moth  is  pressed 
To  the  wide  leaf's  underside. — 
And  I  know  where  the  red  wasps  hide, 
And  the  wild  bees, — who  defied 

The  first  strong  gusts, — distressed. 


124  ^  GRAY  DAY. 


VI. 


Yet  I  feel  that  the  gray  will  blow 
Aside  for  an  afterglow  ; 

And  a  breeze  on  a  sudden  toss 
Drenched  boughs  to  a  pattering  show'r 
Athwart  the  red  dusk  in  a  glow'r, 
Big  drops  heard  hard  on  each  flow'r 

On  the  grass  and  the  flowering  moss. 

VII. 

And  then  for  a  minute,  may  be, — 
A  pearl — hollow  worn — of  the  sea, — 

A  glimmer  of  moon  will  smile; 
Cool  stars  rinsed  clean  on  the  dusk, 
A  freshness  of  gathering  musk 
O'er  the  showery  lawns,  as  brusk 

As  spice  from  an  Indian  isle. 


CARMEN. 

LA  Gitanilla !  tall  dragoons 
/     In  Andalusian  afternoons, 
With  ogling  eye  and  compliment 
Smiled  on  you,  as  along  you  went 
Some  sleepy  street  of  old  Seville  ; 
Twirled  with  a  military  skill 
Moustaches ;  buttoned  uniforms 
Of  Spanish  yellow  bowed  your  charms. 

Proud,  wicked  head  and  hair  blue-black  ! 
Whence  your  mantilla,  half  thrown  back. 
Discovered  shoulders  and  bold  breast 
Bohemian  brown  :  and  you  were  dressed — 
In  some  short  skirt  of  gipsy  red 
Of  smuggled  stuff;  thence  stockings  dead 
White  silk  exposed  with  many  a  hole 
Thro'  which  your  plump  legs  roguish  stole 
A  fleshly  look  :  and  tiny  toes 
In  red  morocco  shoes  with  bows 
Of  scarlet  ribbons.     Daintily 


1 26  CARMEN. 

You  walked  by  me  and  I  did  see 
Your  oblique  eyes,  your  sensuous  lip, 
That  gnawed  the  rose  you  once  did  flip 
At  bashful  Jose's  nose  while  loud 
Laughed  the  guant  guards  among  the  crowd. 
And,  in  your  brazen  chemise  thrust, 
Heaved  with  the  swelling  of  your  bust. 
That  bunch  of  white  acacia  blooms 
Whiffed  past  my  nostrils  hot  perfumes. 

As  in  a  cool  neveria 

I  ate  an  ice  with  Merimee, 

Dark  Carmencita,  you  passed  gay, 

All  holiday  bedizened, 

A  new  mantilla  on  your  head  ; 

A  crimson  dress  bespangled  fierce ; 

And  crescent  gold,  hung  in  your  ears, 

Shone  wrought  Morisco ;  and  each  shoe 

Cordovan  leather,  spangled  blue, 

Glanced  merriment ;  and  from  large  arms 

To  well-turned  ancles  all  your  charms 

Blew  flutterings  and  glitterings 

Of  satin  bands  and  beaded  strings ; 

And  'round  each  arm's  fair  thigh  one  fold, 

And  graceful  wrists,  a  twisted  gold 

Coiled  serpents,  tails  fixed  in  the  head. 

Convulsive-jeweled  glossy  red. 


CARMEN.  127 

In  flowers  and  trimmings  to  the  jar 

Of  mandolin  and  low  guitar 

You  in  the  grated  patio 

Danced ;  the  curled  coxcombs'  flirting  row 

Rang  pleased  applause.     I  saw  you  dance, 

With  wily  motion  and  glad  glance 

Voluptuous,  the  wild  romalis, 

Where  every  movement  was  a  kiss 

Of  elegance  delicious,  wound 

In  your  Basque  tambourine's  dull  sound. 

Or  as  the  ebon  castanets 

Clucked  out  dry  time  in  unctuous  jets, 

Saw  angry  Jose  thro'  the  grate 

Glare  on  us  a  pale  face  of  hate, 

When  some  indecent  colonel  there 

Presumed  too  lewdly  for  his  ear. 

Some  still  night  in  Seville  ;  the  street, 
Candilejo ;  two  shadows  meet — 
Flash  sabres;  crossed  within  the  moon, — 
Clash  rapidly — a  dead  dragoon. 


DISENCHANTMENT  OF  DEATH. 

HUSH !  She  is  dead  !  Tread  gently  as  the  h'ght 
Foots  dim  the  weary  room.     Thou  shalt  behold. 
Look  : — In  death's  ermine  pomp  of  awful  white, 
Pale  passion  of  pulseless  slumber  virgin  cold : 
Bold,  beautiful  youth  proud  as  heroic  Might — 
Death !  and  how  death  hath  made  it  vastly  old. 

Old  earth  she  is  now  :  energy  of  birth 

Glad  wings  hath  fledged  and  tried  them  suddenly  ; 

The  eyes  that  held  have  freed  their  narrow  mirth ; 
Their  sparks  of  spirit,  which  made  this  to  be, 

Shine  fixed  in  rarer  jewels  not  of  earth, 
Far  Fairylands  beyond  some  silent  sea. 

A  sod  is  this  whence  what  were  once  those  eyes 
Will  grow  blue  wild-flowers  in  what  happy  air; 

Some  weed  with  flossy  blossoms  will  surprise, 
Haply,  what  summer  with  her  affluent  hair ; 

Blush  roses  bask  those  cheeks ;  and  the  wise  skies 
Will  know  her  dryad  to  what  young  oak  fair. 


DISENCHANTMENT  OF  DEATH.  129 

The  chastity  of  death  hath  touched  her  so, 

No  dreams  of  life  can  reach  her  in  such  rest ; — 

No  dreams  the  mind  exhausted  here  below, 
Sleep  built  within  the  romance  of  her  breast. 

How  she  will  sleep !  like  musick  quickening  slow 
Dark  the  dead  germs,  to  golden  life  caressed. 

Low  musick,  thin  as  winds  that  lyre  the  grass, 
Smiting  thro'  red  roots  harpings ;  and  the  sound 

Of  elfin  revels  when  the  wild  dews  glass 
Globes  of  concentric  beauty  on  the  ground; 

For  showery  clouds  o'er  tepid  nights  that  pass 

The  prayer  in  harebells  and  faint  foxgloves  crowned. 

So,  if  she's  dead,  thou  know'st  she  is  not  dead. 

Disturb  her  not;  she  lies  so  lost  in  sleep: 
The  too-contracted  soul  its  shell  hath  fled : 

Her  presence  drifts  about  us  and  the  deep 
Is  yet  unvoyaged  and  she  smiles  o'erhead : — 

Weep  not  nor  sigh — thou  wouldst  not  have  herwQtp  ? 

To  principles  of  passsion  and  of  pride, 

To  trophied  circumstance  and  specious  law, 

Stale  saws  of  life,  with  scorn  now  flung  aside. 

From  Mercy's  throne  and  Justice  would'st  thou  draw 

Her,  Hope  in  Hope,  and  Chastity's  pale  bride. 
In  holiest  love  of  holy,  without  flaw? 


I30 


DISENCHANTMENT  OF  DEATH. 


The  anguish  of  the  living  merciless, — 
Mad,  bitter  cruelty  unto  the  grave, — 

Wrings  the  dear  dead  with  tenfold  heart's  distress, 
Earth  chaining  love,  bound  by  the  lips  that  rave. 

If  thou  hast  sorrow  let  thy  sorrow  bless 

That  power  of  death,  of  death  our  selfless  slave. 

"Unjust?" — He  is  not !  for  hast  thou  not  all. 
All  that  thou  ever  hadst  when  this  dull  clay 

So  heartless,  blasted  now,  flushed  spiritual, 
A  restless  vassal  of  Earth's  night  and  day  ? 

This  hath  been  thine  and  is  ;  the  cosmic  call 
Hath  disenchanted  that  which  might  not  stay. 

Thou  unjust ! — bar  not  from  its  high  estate, — 
Won  with  what  toil  thro'  devastating  cares : 

What  bootless  battling  with  the  violent  Fate ; 
What  mailed  endeavor  with  resistless  years  ; — 

That  soul : — whole-hearted  granted  once  thy  mate. 
Heaven  only  loaned,  return  it  not  with  tears ! 


1 


THE  THREE  URGANDAS. 

CAST  on  sleep  there  came  to  me 
Three  Urgandas  ;  and  the  sea 
In  lost  lands  of  Briogne 

Sounded  moaning,  moaning: 
Cloudy  clad  in  awful  white ; 
And  each  face  a  lucid  light 
Rayed  and  blossomed  out  of  night, — 
And  a  wind  was  groaning. 

In  my  sleep  I  saw  them  rest, 
Each  a  long  hand  at  her  breast, 
A  soft  flame  that  lulls  the  West  ; — 

And  the  sea  was  moaning,  moaning ; - 
Hair  like  hoarded  ingots  rolled 
Down  white  shoulders  glossy  gold, 
Streaks  of  molten  moonlight  cold, — 

And  a  wind  was  groaning. 

Rosy  'round  each  high  brow  bent 
Four-fold  starry  gold  that  sent 
Barbs  of  fire  redolent ; — 

And  the  sea  was  moaning,  moaning  ;- 
'Neath  their  burning  crowns  their  eyes 
Burned  like  southern  stars  the  skies 
Rock  in  shattered  storm  that  flies, — 

And  a  wind  was  groaning. 


132 


THE  THREE  URGANDAS. 

Wisdom's  eyes  of  lurid  dark  ; 
And  each  red  mouth  like  a  spark 
Flashed  and  laughed  off  care  and  cark, — 

And  the  sea  was  moaning,  moaning ; — 
Mouths  for  song  and  lips  to  kiss ; 
Lips  for  hate  and  mouths  to  hiss  ; 
Lips  that  fashioned  hell  or  bliss, — 

And  the  wind  was  groaning. 

Tall  as  stately  virgins  dead, 

Tapers  lit  at  feet  and  head, 

'Round  whom  Latin  prayers  are  said, — 

And  the  sea  was  moaning,  moaning; — 
Or  as  vampire  women,  who. 
Buried  beauties,  rise  and  woo 
Youths  whose  blood  they  suck  like  dew,- 

And  a  wind  was  groaning. 

Then  the  west  one  said  to  me  : 
"  Thou  hast  slept  thus  holily 
While  seven  sands  ran  secretly." — 

And  the  sea  was  moaning,  moaning; — 
"  Earth  hath  served  thee  like  a  slave, 
Serving  us  who  found  thee  brave. 
Fearless  of  or  life  or  grave." — 
And  a  wind  was  groaning. 


THE  THREE  URGANDAS.  133 

"  Know  !" — she  smote  my  brow ;  a  pain, 
Riddling  arrows,  rent  my  brain, 
Ceased  and  earth  fell,  some  vast  strain  ; — 

And  the  sea  was  moaning,  moaning  ; — 
Then  I  understood  all  thought; 
What  was  life  the  spirit  fraught ; 
Love  and  hate  ;  how  worlds  were  wrought : — 

And  a  wind  was  groaning. 

Then  the  east  one  said  to  me : 
"  Thou  hast  wandered  wearily 
By  what  mist-enveloped  sea  !" — 

And  the  sea  was  moaning,  moaning; — 
"Know  the  things  thou  hast  not  seen  ; 
Life  and  law,  and  love  and  teen ; 
Things  that  be  and  have  not  been." — 
And  the  wind  was  groaning. 

"See  !"  her  voice  sung  like  a  lyre 
Throbs  of  thunderous  desire ; 
Then  the  iron  sight  like  fife — 

And  the  sea  was  moaning,  moaning ; — 
Burst ;  the  inner  eyelids,  which 
Husked  clairvoyance,  with  a  twitch 
Rose — and  I  with  light  was  rich  ; — 
And  a  wind  was  groaning. 


134 


THE  THREE  URGANDAS. 

Then  I  saw  the  eyes  of  Sleep ; 
Nerves  of  Life  and  veins  that  leap  ; 
Laws  of  entity  ;  the  deep  : — 

And  the  sea  was  moaning,  moaning ; — 
Orbs  and  eons ;  springs  of  Power  ; 
Circumstance — blown  like  a  flower; — 
Time — the  second  of  an  hour  : — 

And  the  wind  was  groaning. 

To  the  central  third  one's  full 

Balanced  being  beautiful 

Heart,  to  hearken,  made  a  lull, — 

And  the  sea  was  moaning,  moaning ; — 
As  she  sternly  stooped  to  me  : 
"  Thou  dost  know  and  thou  canst  see ; 
What  thou  art  arise  and  bel" — 

And  the  wind  was  groaning. 

To  my  mouth  hot  lips  she  pressed ; 
And  my  famished  soul,  thrice  blessed. 
Quaffed  her  radiance  and  caressed  : — 

And  vague  seas  were  moaning,  moaning 
Mounted  ;  star-vibrating  fled  ; 
Soared  to  love,  with  her  who  said : 
"  Thou  dost  live  and  thou  art  dead." — 

Far  off  winds  were  groaning. 


THE  BRUSH  SPARROW. 

I. 

ERE  wild  haws,  looming  in  the  glooms, 
Build  bolted  drifts  of  breezy  blooms; 
And  in  the  whistling  hollow  there 
The  red-bud  bends  as  brown  and  bare 
As  buxom  Roxy's  up-stripped  arm  ; 
From  some  slick  hickory  or  larch, 
Sighed  o'er  the  sodden  meads  of  March, 
The  sad  heart  thrills  and  reddens  warm 
To  hear  thee  braving  the  rough  storm, 
Frail  courier  of  green-gathering  powers, — 
Rebelling  sap  in  trunks  and  flowers; 
Love's  minister  come  heralding ; 
O  sweet  saint-voice  among  bleak  bowers ! — 
Thou  brown-red  pursuivant  of  Spring! 

II. 

"Moan  "  sob  the  woodland  cascades  still 

Down  bloomless  ledges  of  the  hill; 

And  gray,  gaunt  clouds  like  harpies  hang 


1-5  THE  BRUSH  SPARROW. 

In  harpy  heavens,  and  swoop  and  clang 
Sharp  beaks  and  talons  of  the  wind : 
Black  scowl  the  forests,  and  unkind 
The  far  fields  as  the  near ;  while  song 
Seems  murdered  and  all  passion,  wrong. 
One  wild  frog  only  in  the  thaw 
Of  spawny  pools  wakes  cold  and  raw, 
Expires  a  melancholy  bass 
And  stops  as  if   bewildered;  then 
Along  the  frowning  wood  again. 
Flung  in  the  thin  wind's  fangy  face. 
Thou,  in  red,  woolly  tassels  proud 
Of  bannered  maples,  flutest  loud  : 
*'Her  Grace!  her  Grace!  her  Grace !" 


III. 

"Her  Grace!  her  Grace!  her  Grace!" 
Climbs  beautiful  and  sunny-browed 
Up,  up  the  kindling  hills  and  wakes 
Blue  berries  in  the  berry  brakes; 
With  fragrant  flakes,  that  blow  and  bleach, 
Deep  powders  smothered  quince  and  peach ; 
Eyes  dogwoods  with  a  thousand  eyes; 
Teaches  each  sod  how  to  be  wise 
With  twenty  wild-flowers  for  one  weed; 


THE  BRUSH  SPARROW. 

And  kisses  germs  that  they  may  seed. 

In  purest  purple  and  sweet  white 

Treads  up  the  happier  hills  of  light ; 

Bloom,  cloudy-borne,  song  in  her  hair. 

Long  dew-drops  her  pale  fingers  fair : 

Big  wind-retainers,  and  the  rains 

Her  yeomen  strong  that  flash  the  plains ; 

While  scarlet  mists  at  dawn, — and  gold 

At  eve, — her  panoply  enfold. — 

Her  herald  tabarded  behold  ! — 

Awake  to  greet!  prepare  to  sing! 

She  comes,  the  darling  Duchess,  Spring!" 


137 


12 


CHORDS. 


I. 


SLEEP  while  I  sing  to  thee,  Dulcinea, — 
How  like  a  shower  of  moonlight-crusted  beams 
Of  textile  form  compact,  whose  veins  run  stars, — 
Discovered  goddess  of  what  naked  loves  ! — 
Maiden  of  dreams  and  aromatic  sleep, 
Thou  liest.     Thy  long  instrument  against 
Thy  god-voluptuous  sensuousness  of  hip 
Pure  iridescent  pearl  of  ocean  slopes : 
Tempestuous  silent  color-melodies 
Pulse  glimmering  from  it  beaten  by  the  moon, — 
Soft  songs  the  white  hands  of  white  shadows  touch. - 
Magnetic  star  set  slumberous  over  night, 
Watch  with  me  this  superior  star  of  Earth 
Good  Heaven  was  kind  to  grant  me :  Trembler, 
Like  some  soft  bird,  dream,  while  I  sing  to  thee — 
Dream,  languid  ardor,  my  Dulcinea,  dream. 


CHORDS.  139 


II. 


FLOATS  a  wild  chant  of  morning  from  the  hills; 
Bursts  a  broad  song  of  sunlight  on  the  sea  ; 
High  Heaven  throbs  strung  with  rays  of  chords  and 
Life's  resonant  pseans  to  Earth's  minstrelsy.      [thrills, 
Bind  thou  swift  sandals  on  of  youth, 
My  love,  and  harp  to  me  of  truth 
In  lands  of  joy  or  ruth. 

Now  sheer  o'er  solitudes  of  noon  the  strife 

Of  chariot  fierce  by  chariot  scintillant 
Flames,  and  the  blade-bare  charioteers  for  life, 

O'er-bent,  close-curled,  goad  their  hot  yokes  that  pant. 
Haste  not,  my  love,  but  from  the  beam 
Beside  this  olive-frosty  stream 
Sing  while  I  rest  and  dream. 

What  swart  Penthesilea,  Amazon, 

Hath,  smitten,  hurled  her  shield,  that  crescent  there  ; 
To  wrench  the  barbed  arrow  leaned, — voiced  one 
Defiant  shout,  breathed  her  red  life  in  air. — 
Tho'  life  be  close  to  sunset,  lo, 
Into  the  sunset  let  us  go 
Still  lyring  joy  not  woe. 


I40  CHORDS. 

How  swims  the  Night  thro'  the  deep-oceaned  sky! 
How  at  pale  lips  blown  stars  like  bubbles  break, 
Burn,  streamed  from  showery  locks  she  tosses  high  !- 
A  stronger  swimmer,  Death,  glares  in  her  wake. — 
Cast,  love,  ah  cast  thy  harp  away ! 
Aweary  am  I  of  thy  lay — 
Kneel  down  by  me  and  pray. 


CHORDS.  141 


III. 


WHEN  love  delays,  when  love  delays  and  Joy 
Steals  a  strange  shadow  o'er  the  happy  hills, 
And  Hope  smiles  from  To-morrow,  nor  fulfills 
One  promise  of  To-day,  thy  sight  would  cloy 
This  soul  with  loved  despair 
By  seeing  thee  so  fair. 

When  love  delays,  when  love  delays  and  song 
Aches  at  wild  lips  regretful,  as  the  sound 
Of  a  whole  sea  strives  in  the  shell-mouth  bound, 
Tho'  Hope  smiles  still  to-morrowed,  all  this  wrong 
Would,  at  one  little  word. 
Leap  forth  for  thee  a  sword. 

When  love  delays,  when  love  delays  and  sleep 
Nests  in  dark  eyeballs,  like  a  song  of  home 
Heard  'mid  familiar  flowers  o'er  the  foam, 
Tho'  Hope  smiles  still  to-morrowed,  thou  wouldst  steep 
This  hurt  heart  overmuch 
In  balm  with  one  true  touch. 


142  CHORDS. 

When  love  delays,  when  love  delays  and  Sorrow 
Drinks  her  own  tears  that  fever  her  soul's  thirst, 
And  song,  and  sleep,  and  memory  seem  accurst, 
For  Hope  smiles  still  to-morrowed,  I  would  borrow 
One  smile  from  thee  to  cheer 
The  weary,  weary  year. 

When  love  delays,  when  love  delays  and  Death    [night. 
Hath  sealed  dim  lips  and  mocked  young  eyes  with 
To  love  or  hate  locked  calm,  indifferent  quite, — 
Hope's  star-eyed  acolyte, — what  kisses'  breath. 
What  joys  can  slay  regret 
Or  teach  thee  to  forget ! 


CHORDS.  I  ^3 


IV. 


THOU  hast  not  loved  her,  hast  not  as  thou  shouldst, 
O  narrow  heart,  that  could  not  grasp  so  wide ! 
And  tho'  thy  oaths  seemed  oaths  yet  they  have  lied, 
And  thy  caresses,  kisses  were — denied — 
Thou  hast  not  loved  her,  hast  not  as  thou  couldst. 

Thou  hast  not  loved  her,  hast  not  as  thou  shouldst; 
O  shallow  eyes,  that  could  not  image  deep! — 
Enough  !  what  boots  it  tho'  ye  weep  and  weep? 
Her  sleep  is  deep,  too  deep !  so  let  her  sleep — 

Thou  hast  not  loved  her,  hast  not  as  thou  couldst. 

Thou  hast  not  loved  her,  hast  not  as  thou  shouldst ; 
For  hadst  thou,  that  confluent  night  and  day 
Had  in  oblivion  currents  borne  away 
Not  one  alone — but   coward  !  thou  didst  stay — 

Thou  hast  not  loved  her,  hast  not  as  thou  couldst! 


144  CHORDS. 


V. 


OLIFE,  thou  hast  no  power  left  to  strive, 
Life,  who,  upon  wild  mountains  of  Surprise, 
Behold'st  Love's  citadelled,  tall  towers  rise, — 
Shafts  of  clear,  Paphian  waters  poured  that  live. 

O  Hope,  who  sought'st  fulfillment  of  deep  dreams 
Beyond  those  Caucasus  of  Faith  and  Truth, — 
Twixt  silver  realms  of  eld  and  golden  youth 

Rolled, — cloudward  clustered;  whose  sonorous  streams, 

Urned  in  the  palms  of  Death,  gush  to  his  feet : 
Unlovely  beauty  of  sad,  stirless  sight 
Mixed  in  them  with  eternity  of  night ; — 

O  Hope,  how  sad  the  journey  once  so  sweet ! 

Dreams  crowned  with  thorns  have  passed  thee  on  the  way; 

And  Beauties  with  bare  limbs  red-bruised  and  torn ; 

Tall,  holy  Hours  their  eyes  dull,  wan  and  worn, 
Slaves  manacled  whom  lashed  the  brutal  Day. 

And  Sorrow  sat  beside  a  sea  so  wide, 

That  shoreless  Heaven  unto  one  little  star 
Upon  the  brink  of  night  seems  not  so  far, 

And  on  her  feet  the  frail  foams  tossing  sighed. 


CHORDS. 


MS 


She,  her  rent  hair,  dressed  h"ke  a  siren's,  full 
Of  weedy  waifs  and  strays  of  moaning  shells. 
Streaked  with  the  glimmering  sands  and  foamy  bells, 

Loomed  a  pale  utterance  most  beautiful. 

"  And  thou  shalt  love  me,  Sorrow  !"  I ;  but  she 
Turned  her  vast  eyes  upon  me  and  no  more; 
Their  melancholy  language  clove  the  core 

Of  my  fast  heart ;  and  in  mine  ears  the  sea 

Along  gaunt  crags  yearned  iron-husky  grief; 

Groaned  the  hard  headlands  with  the  wings  of  Storm, 
Huge  thunder  shook  the  foot-hills  and  Alarm 

Gnashed  her  thin  fangs  from  hissing  reef  to  reef 

So  to  the  hills  aweary  I  did  turn. — 

Beyond,  a  reach  of  sunlight  and  slim  flowers; 
Where  Hope,  an  amaranth,  and  tearless  Hours, 

Long  lilies,  lived,  whose  hearts  stiff  gold  did  burn. 

And  there  curled  Joy  clinked  their  chaste  chalices ; 

Distilled  at  dusk,  poured  bubbling  dewy  wine, 

Divine  elixir!  off  his  lips  divine 
Tossed  the  fleet  rapture  to  the  golden  lees, 

And  so  lolled  dazed  with  pleasure.     And  I  said, 
"  Yield  me  the  lily  thou  hast  drained  that  I 
This  hollow  thirst  may  kill  and  so  not  die?" 

To  me  he  laughed,  "  I  yield  it!"— but  'twas  dead. 

13 


146  CHORDS. 

And  each  blown  reach  and  eminence  of  blooms 
Flushed  long,  low,  gurgling  murmurs  like  a  sea, 
And  laughed  bright  lips  that  flashed  white  teeth  of  glee 

In  pearly  flower  on  flower ;  pure  perfumes 

Gasped  the  rolled  fields ;  and  o'er  the  eminence 
I  journeyed  joyless  thro'  a  blossom-fire 
That,  budding  kisses  curled  with  blown  desire, 

Clasped  me  and  claimed  me  tho'  I  spurned  it  hence. 

Then  came  unto  a  land  of  thorns  and  weeds. 
And  dust  and  thirst  o'er  which  a  songless  sky, 
Hoarse  with  lean  vultures,  scowled  a  scoffing  lie, 

Where  cold  snakes  hissed  among  dead,  rattling  reeds. 

And  there  I  saw  the  bony  brow  of  Hate ; 

Vile,  vicious  sneers,  the  eyes  of  shriveled  Scorn 
Among  the  writhing  briers ;  each  a  thorn 

Of  cavernous  hunger  barbed  with  burning  fate. 

They,  thro'  her  face-drawn  locks  of  raveled  dark, 
Stung  a  stark  horror ;  and  I  felt  my  heart 
Freeze,  wedged  with  ice,  to  dullness  part  by  part. 

And  knew  Hate  coiled  toward  me  yet  stood  stark — 

Fell ;  seeing  on  the  happy,  happy  hills. 
Above  that  den  of  dust  and  thorny  thirst, 
The  bastioned  walls  of  Love  in  glory  burst, 

Built  by  sweet  glades  of  Poesy  and  rills. 


CHORDS. 


147 


O  Life,  I  had  not  life  enough  to  strive ! 

O  Hope,  I  had  not  hope  enough  to  dream  ! 

Death  drew  me  to  him  and  to  sigh  did  seem, 
"  Love  ?  Love  ? — thou  canst  not  reach  her  and  yet  live  ! 

"  For  sorrow,  joy,  and  hate,  and  scorn  are  bound 
About  thee,  girdling  so,  thy  lips  are  dumb ; 
And  Fame,  ah  Fame  !  her  towers  are  but  a  tomb — 

Star-set  on  dwindling  heights  of  starry  ground. 

"  And  thou  art  done  and  being  done  must  die, 
Endeavor  being  dead  and  energy 
Slain,  a  wild  bird  that  beat  bars  to  be  free, 

Despairing  perished,  finding  life  a  lie." 


148  CHORDS. 


VI. 


IF  thou  wouldst  know  the  Beautiful  that  breathes 
Consanguined  with  young  Earth,  go  seek! — but  seek 
No  sighing  Shadows  with  dead  hemlock-wreaths, 

No  sleepy  Sorrows  whose  wan  eyes  are  weak 
With  vanished  vigils,  Melancholy  made, 
Forlorn,  in  lands  of  sin  and  saddening  shade; 
No  tearful  Angers  torn  of  truthless  Love, 

Who  stab  their  own  hearts  to  dull  daggers'  hilts 
For  vengeance  sweet ;  no  miser  Moods  that  fade 
In  owlet  towers.     Such  it  springs  above. 

And  buds  on  morning  meads  no  flower  that  wilts. 

If  thou  dost  seek  the  Beautiful,  beware ! 

Lest  thou  discover  her,  nor  know  'tis  she ; 
And  she  enslave  thee  evermore,  and  there 

Reward  thee  with  but  kingliest  beggary: 
Make  thine  the  robust  red  her  cheek  that  stings ; 
The  kiss-sweet  odor,  thine,  her  wild  breath  brings; 
Make  thine  the  broad  bloom  of  her  crowned  brow; 

The  hearts  of  light  that  ardor  her  proud  eyes; 
That  melody, — which  is  herself, — that  sings 
The  poem  of  her  presence  and  the  vow. 

That  stars  exalts  and  mortals  deifies. 


CHORDS.  149 

Lone  art  thou  then,  lone  as  the  lone  first  star 

Kindling  pale  beauty  o'er  the  mournful  wave; 
Lost  to  all  happiness  save  searching  far 

Thro'  lands  of  Life  where  Death  hath  delved  no  grave: 
Lost, — even  as  I, — a  devotee  to  her, 
Poor  in  world-blessedness  her  bliss  to  share, 
But  rich  in  passion. — For  her  hermitage 

Hope  no  Hydaspes'  splendor,  for  it  lies 
Mossy  by  woody  waters  hidden,  where 
She,  priestess  pure,  wise  o'er  all  Wisdom  sage, 

Shrines  artists'  hearts  for  godliest  sacrifice. 


50  CHORDS. 


VII. 


THEN  up  the  orient  heights  to  the  zenith  that  bal- 
anced a  crescent, — 
Up  and  far  up  and  over, — a  warm  erubescence  h'ques- 

cent 
Rioted  roses  and  rubies;  eruptions  of  opaline  gems, 
Flung   and  wide    sown,  b4ushed  crushed,  and  crumbled 

from  diadems 
Wealth  of  the  kings  of  the  Sylphs ;  whence,  old  alche- 
mist. Earth — 
Dewed  down — by  chemistry    occult    fashions    petrified 

waters  of  worth. — 
Then  out  of  the  stain  and  rash  furor,  the  passionate  pul- 

ver  of  stone, 
The  trembling  suffusion  that  dazzled  and  awfully  shone, 
Chamelion-convulsion   of     color,  hilarious    ranges    of 

glare — 
Like  a  god  who  for  vengeance  ires,  nodding  battle  from 

every  hair, 
Fares   forth  with  majesty  girdled  and  clangs  with  hot 

heroes  for  life, 
Till  the  brazen  gates  boom  bursten  hells  and  the  walls 

roar  bristling  strife, — 


CHORDS.  1 5  I 

Athwart  with  a  stab  of  glittering  fire,  in-plunged  like  a 

knife, 
Cut  billowing  gold,  in  bullion  rolled,  and  an  army  driven, 
Routed,  the  stars  fled  shriveled ;    and  the  white  moon 

riven, 
Puffed, — like  a  foam-feather  forth  of  a  Triton's  conch 

when  sounded, — 
Clung,  vague  as  a  web,  on  heaven  ;  then  weak  as  a  face 

that  is  wounded 
Died  on  the  withering  clouds  and  sorrowed  with  them 

and  mingled. 
While  up  and  up  with  a  steadiness  and  triumph  of  spar- 
kle that  tingled, 
Wrestled  the  tempest  of  Dawn,  that  hurricaned  heaven 

with  spangle. 
And  halcyon  bloom  like  mercy, — a  shatter,  a  scatter,  a 

tangle 
Of  labyrinthed  glory. — O  God !  with  manifold  mirth 
The  hallelujah  of  Heaven,  hosanna  of  Earth. 

2. 

And  I  in  my  vision  imprisoned  was  restless  and  wan 

With  a  yearning  for  vigor  to  gird  and  be  gone 

Out  of  false  dreams  to  the  true — realities  noble  of  dawn. 


152  CHORDS. 


VIII. 


VANISHING   visions,  whose  lineaments   steal   into 
slumbers, 
Loosened  the  lids  of  the  sight  the  night  that  encumbers  ; 
Secretly,  sweetly  with  fingers  of  fog  that  were  slow, 
Slow  as  a  song  that  mysterious 
Passions  the  soul,  till  delirious, 
Wrapped  in  mad  melody  mastering  the  uttermost  woe. 
Deep  to  the  innermost  deep  it  is  shaken 
Ruffled  and  rippled  and  tossed, 
Tantalized,  terrorized,  cursed  with  a  thirst  that,  unslaken, 
Debauches  with  eyes  that  burn  stolid,  yet  only  shall 
waken 

With  infinite  scorn  of  the  cost 
If  no  note  of  the  rhapsody's  lost. 

2. 

Oh,  for  the  music  of  moonbeams  that  master  and  sweep 

Chords  of  the  resonant  deep ! 
Smiting  loud  lyres  of  Night,  sonorous  as  fire, 
Leap  fluttering  fingers  of  vanquishing  flash  and  of  flake 
Fain  at  each  firmament-universe-instrument  star-strung. 
Vibrating-vestured  in  garments  of  woven  desire, 


CHORDS. 


153 


Stoop  to  me,  breathe  on  me,  smile  on  me,  waver,  '^  Awake! 
From  waking  to  sleeping^  to  silence  from  manifold  clamor. 
To  reveloiis  regions  of  multiform  glamoiir  f' 

Murmur  and  whisper  "Awake  /" 
Oh,  necromance  banquets  by  fountains  of  fairy,  the  spar- 
sprung! 
Oh,  sorcerous  beauties  and  wonders  of  wizards  !  oh  take 

The  millions  of  morning-spun  gleams. 

All  glitters  of  galloping  streams. 
The  glimmer  the  gasp  the  clutch  and  the  grasp, 
That  colorless  crystals  and  virtuous  jewels 

As  spasmodic  fuels 

Cuddle  and  huddle  and  clasp  : 
The  wrinkle  and  crinkle   of    scintillant  heat  in  white 

metals ; 
The  quiver  of  terrible  gold  and  the  pearly 
Lithe  brilliance  of  soft,  holy  petals. 
Of  slender,  sad  blossoms,  tumultuous  tossed  crispy  and 

curly 
In  shadowy  reaches  of  violet  dark  ; 
The  burn  of  the  stars  and  the  spark 
Fragile  of  foams  that  are  fluted,  to  make 

One  cordial  of  dreams 

To  drink  and  to  sink 
Deep,  deep  into  dreams  nor  awake. 


154  CHORDS. 


IX 


AS  to  a  Nymph  in  the  ripple-ribbed  body  of  ocean, 
iV  Down,  down  thro'  vast  stories  of  water,  a  hiss  and  de- 
Electrify  altitudes  orbed, — pulses  violent  motion    [vour 
Of  Thunder,  who  treads  the  brute  neck  of  the  seas  in 

his  power, 
Till  their  spine  writhes  lumped  into  waves, — the  Nymph 

in  her  bower, 
Rubbing  moist  sleep  from  her  eyes,  arises, — 

Loosens  the  loops  of  her  locks. 
Loosens,  and  suddenly  darts  on  the  storm  and  surprises 

The  boisterous  bands  of  the  rocks. 
That  hoot  to  the  the  riddling  arrows  of  rain  and  of  seas. 
Mountainous  these; — 
Swirling  and  whirling, 
She  of  the  huge  exultation  beheld,  with  long  tresses, 
Dotted  with  bells  of  the  hollow,  hard  foam,  flung  stream- 
ing, 
Dives,  bounds  to  the  whirlwind  embracing;  then  mock- 
ingly presses 
Hair  to  wild  face  and  wild  throat,  drifts  desolate  dream- 
ing; 


CHORDS.  155 

With  scorn  then  laughing  and  screaming, 
Discovers  full  beauty  of  nakedness  leaping  and  gleam- 
ing; 
And  showering  the  rain  from  her  hair, 
Pouts  blown,  curdled  foam  from  her  lips, 

And  eddying  slips, 
From  the  ravenous  eyes  of  the  Thunder  that  glare, 

Away,  away, 
To  the  arms  of  her  lover  the  Spray. 

So  I,— 
At  swift  thoughts  that  were  spoken,  that  came 
As  if  winds  had  fashioned  a  speech — was  a  flame 
That  dwindled,  was  kindled,  then  mounted  and. 

Marvelling  why, — 
Stemming  all  thought,  a  gleam  out  of  gleams 

Was  born  into  dreams. 


2. 

Beautiful-bosomed,  O  Night !  with  thy  moon. 
Move  in  majesty  slowly  to  majesty  lightly! 
Silent  as  sleep,  who  is  lulled  by  a  delicate  tune, 
O'er-stroke  thou  the  air  with  a  languor  of  moonlight 

brightly ! 
Thin  ice,  in  sockets  of  turquoise  fastened,  the  stars 
Gash  golden  the  bosom  of  heaven  with  fiery  scars. 


156  CHORDS. 

Swoon  down,  O  shadowy  hosts, 

O  multitude  ghosts, 
Of  the  moonh'ght  and  starlight  begotten  ! — Then  swept 
Whispers  that  sighed  to  me,  sorrows  that  stealthily  hov- 
ered, 
Laughters  with  lips  that  were  mist.     And  murmurings 

crept 
On  toward  me  feet  that  were  glow  ;  and  faces  uncovered. 

Radiant  and  crystalline  clear, 
In  tortuous,  sinuous  swirl  of  vapory  pearl. 

Waned  near  and  more  near. 
Flashed  faster  a  spiral  of  shapes  and  of  shadows  still 

faster, 
On  in  a  whirl  of  unutterable  beauties  by  music  expired, 

That  lived  and  desired, — 
Born  births  of  the  brain  of  a  rhapsody-reveling  master; 

And  mine  eyes,  with  their  beauties  infired. 
Smiled  scorn  on  dark  Death  and  Disaster. 


CHORDS.  157 


X. 


"  AH  !  now  the  orchard's  leaves  are  sear, 
il     Drip  not  with  starlight-litten  dew; 
Green-drowned  no  moon-bright  fruit  hangs  here; 
Dead,  dead  your  long,  white  lilies  too — 
And  you,  AUita,  where  are  you  !  " 

Then  comes  her  dim  touch, faintly  warm; 
Cool  hair  sense  on  my  feverish  cheek; 

Dim  eyes  at  mine  deep  with  some  charm, — 
So  gray !  so  gray !  and  I  am  weak 
Weak  with  wild  tears  and  can  not  speak. 

I  am  as  one  who  walks  with  dreams: 
Sees  as  in  youth  his  father's  home ; 

Hears  from  his  native  mountain-streams 
Far  music  of  continual  foam. 


DEAD  AND  GONE 

I 

I  WOT  well  o'  his  going 
To  think  in  flowers  fair; — 
His  a  right  kind  heart,  my  dear, 
To  give  the  grass  such  hair. 

II. 

I  wot  well  o'  his  lying 

Such  nights  out  in  the  cold, — 
To  list  the  cricket's  crick,  my  sweet, 

To  see  the  glow-worm's  gold. 

III. 

An  mine  eyes  be  laughterful. 
Well  may  they  laugh,  I  trow, — 

Since  two  dead  eyes  a  yesternight 
Gazed  in  them  sad  enow. 

IV. 
An  my  heart  make  moan  and  ache. 

Well  may  it  dree,  I'm  sure; — 
He  is  dead  and  gone,  my  love. 

And  it  is  beggar  poor. 


A   MABINOGI. 

IN  samite  sark  yclad  was  she ; 
And  that  fair  glimmerish  band  of  gold 
Which  crowned  long,  savage  locks  of  hair 
In  the  moon  brent  cold. 

She  with  big  eyeballs  gloomed  and  glowered, 

And  lightly  hummed  some  Elfin's  song, 
And  one  could  naught  save  on  her  stare 
And  fare  along. 

Yea;  sad  and  lute-like  was  that  song 

And  softly  said  its  mystery  ; 
Which  quaintly  sang  in  elden  verse 
"Thy  love  ril  be." 

And  oft  it  said  :  "  I  love  thee  true, 
Sir  Ewain,  champion  of  the  fair," 
And  never  wist  he  what  a  witch 
Was  that  one  there. 


i6o  ^  MABINOGI. 

And  never  wist  he  that  a  witch 

Had  bound  him  with  her  wily  hair, 
Eke  with  dark  art  had  ta'en  his  heart 
To  slay  him  there. 

And  all  his  soul  did  wax  amort 

To  stars,  to  hills,  to  slades,  to  streams, 
And  it  but  held  that  sorceress  fair 
As  one  of  dreams. 

And  now  he  kens  some  castle  gray 
Wild  turrets  ivied,  in  the  moon, 
Old,  where  through  woodlands  foaming  on 
A  torrent  shone.  .  .  . 

In  its  high  hall  full  twenty  knights 

With  visors  barred  all  sternly  stand ; 
The  following  of  some  gracious  brave, 
Lord  of  the  land. 

And  lo  !  when  that  dim  damosel 

Moved  down  the  hall,  they  louted  low  ; 
And  she  was  queen  of  all  that  band, 
That  dame  of  snow. 

Now  on  that  knight  she  stared  eftsoons. 
And  cried  on  high  unto  her  crew, 
"  Behold  !  Sir  Knights,  the  dastard  brave 
Your  king  that  slew." 


A  MABINOGI.  i6i 

And  all  those  heathen  knights  wox  wild 

Attonce  ;  and  all  against  him  drave ; 
Long  battle  blades  and  daggers  bright 
Aloft  did  wave. 

The  press  on  him  puissant  bare 

And  smote  him  to  the  rush-strown  earth  ; — 
Tall,  tall  o'er  all  that  Fairy  rose 
Aloud  with  mirth. 


14 


w 


GENIUS  LOCI. 

I. 

HAT  deity  for  dozing  laziness 
Devised  the  lounging  coziness  of  this 

Enchanted  nook  ? — and  how ! — did  I  distress 
His  musing  ease  that  fled  but  now,  or  his 

Laughed  frolic  with  some  forest-sister,  fair 

As  those  wild  hill-carnations  are  and  rare  ? 

Too  true,  alas  ! — Feel !  the  wild  moss  is  warm 
And  moist  with  late  reclining,  as  the  palm 
Of  what  hot  Hamadryad,  who,  a-nap. 

Props  her  hale  cheek  upon  it,  while  her  arm 
Weak  wind-flowers  bury ;  in  her  hair  the  balm 
Of  a  whole  Spring  of  blossoms  and  of  sap  ? 

IT. 

See,  how  the  dented  moss,  that  pads  the  hump 
Of  these  distorted  roots,  elastic  springs 

From  that  god's  late  departure ;  lump  by  lump, 
Pale  tufts  impressed  twitch  loose  in  nervous  rings. 

As  crowding  stars  qualm  thro'  gray  evening  skies. 

Indulgence  grant  thou  my  profane  surprise, 


GENIUS  LOCI.  163 

Pray ! — then  to  dream  where  thou  didst  dream  before, 
Benevolent !  .  .  .  here  where  the  veiny  leaves 
Bask  broad  the  fuzzy  bosoms  of  their  hands 

O'er  wistful  waters  :  'neath  this  sycamore, 

Smooth,  giraffe-brindled,  where  each  ripple  weaves 
A  twinkling  quiver  as  of  marching  bands 

III. 

Of  Elfin  chivalry,  that,  helmed  with  gold, 

Split  spilled  the  scaley  sunbeams  wrinkled  off. 
What  brought  thee  here  ? — This  wind  that  steals  the  old 

Weird  legends  from  the  forests,  with  a  scoff 
To  laugh  them  thro'  their  beards  ?  Or,  in  those  weeds, 
The  hermit  brook  so  busy  with  his  beads  ? — 
How  many  Aves,  Paters  doth  he  say 

In  one  droned  minute  on  his  rosary 

Of  bubbles — wot'st  thou  ?  — Pucker-eyed  didst  mark 
Yon  lank  hag-tapers,  yellow  by  yon  way, 

A  haggard  company  of  seven  ? — See 

How  dry  swim  by  such  curled  brown  bits  of  bark  ? 

IV. 

Didst  mark  the  ghostly  gold  of  this  grave,  still, 
Conceited  minnow  thro'  these  twisted  roots, 

Thrust  o'er  the  smoky  topaz  of  this  rill. 

Dull-slumbering  here  ?  Or  did  those  insect  flutes — 


1 64  GENIUS  LOCI. 

Sleepy  with  sunshine — buzz  thee  that  forlorn 

Tale  of  Tithonus  and  the  bashful  Morn  ? 

Until  two  tears  gleamed  in  the  stealing  stream 
Trembling  its  polish  o'er  the  winking  grail  ? — 
Nay !  didst  perplex  thee  with  some  poet  plan 

To  drug  this  air  with  beauty  to  make  dream, — 
Ah,  discreet  Cunning,  watching  in  yon  vale ! — 
Me,  wildwood-wandered  from  the  marts  of  Man 


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